


The World We Knew

by Hustling_Rube93



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Death Eaters, Drama, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Masturbation, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:20:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 77,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25865782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hustling_Rube93/pseuds/Hustling_Rube93
Summary: I knew who I was this morning, but I’ve changed a few times since then — Lewis Carroll, Alice In WonderlandHermione half expected to pass out and wake up again on the floor in Malfoy Manor and find that this was all a dream.
Relationships: Andromeda Black Tonks/Original Male Character(s), Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Comments: 360
Kudos: 636





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A new multi-chapter fic for you all.
> 
> I’ve had this idea floating around in my head for years and thought it was about time I took a break from the ‘Stay’ series (although I love it too much and will return to it at some point!) I know this will be a bit of a challenge, but let’s see where the road takes us. 
> 
> I’ll try not to keep you waiting too long in between updates. 
> 
> I own nothing. All mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

“Just think about it, Bellatrix, darling.” There was a pause in which Bellatrix presumed she was supposed to say something. “It would really mean the world to me,” Druella Black added when Bellatrix didn’t. 

Bellatrix pinched the bridge of her nose in mild irritation and continued to pace in front of the kitchen hearth where her mother’s head currently bobbed amongst the green flames.

“Oh, I don’t know, Mum,” she said, sounding faintly exasperated. “Hermione rather hoped we’d spend the holidays with her mother this year. It’s her first Christmas without Richard and—”

Druella made a sympathetic sound. “Ah, of course. How - how is...” She trailed off. 

“Jennifer,” Bellatrix helpfully supplied, and rolled her eyes in annoyance. 

“Jennifer,” Druella nodded. “Yes. How is Jennifer? It was all so very sudden wasn’t it?”

“Coping,” Bellatrix said.

“And Hermione? How is she taking it?”

“As well as one would expect,” Bellatrix said, snapping just a little. As if this wasn’t the thousandth time that she’d had this conversation with her mother. “Look, Mum, I need to get on. I’ve got a lot of work still to do before—”

“I remember when your father died,” Druella went on in a choked voice, completely ignoring Bellatrix, and going off on another one of her tangents. 

Bellatrix sighed and stopped pacing. She curled a strand of hair around her wand and scowled at the thread of silver she found there as her mother’s grating voice faded off into the background. Her hair was in need of washing she noted. Another thing she could add to the already monumental list of things she had to do today before they went on holiday tomorrow, and none of which involved wasting time talking to her mother about Christmas arrangements when it was only bloody April. 

“Bellatrix?”

“Yes?”

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Of course.”

Druella pursed her lips disbelievingly. “Anyway,” she continued, intent, it would seem, on keeping Bellatrix even longer. “I would like to know your plans for Christmas soon so I—”

Back to this again. Druella Black flitted from one topic to another and back again as quickly as Bellatrix’s mood changed.

Which was damn fast in the right circumstances. 

“Look,” Bellatrix said, in a tone that made her mother’s mouth abruptly snap shut. “I’ll discuss this with Hermione next week and get back to you as quickly as possible. Is that satisfactory?”

“Well, yes, I suppose,” Druella conceded with a huff. Bellatrix nodded and opened her mouth to once again tell her mother that she needed to get on with work when Druella spoke again. “Gracious, look at the state of the place. You should really get a House-elf, Bellatrix. I don’t know how many times I’ve offered Stookie’s services.”

Bellatrix looked around the kitchen. There was a mug of lukewarm coffee on the kitchen table next to the various piles of files and documents from work and a plate on the draining board that she’d used for her toast that morning and then again for her sandwich at lunchtime. 

Bellatrix sighed. “We’ve been over this. We don’t need, nor do we want, a House-elf. Stookie has more than enough to do.”

Druella just looked at the plate on the draining board with a pinched look on her face and Bellatrix wondered what she would say if she saw her grandsons bedroom if she thought a mug and a plate lying out warranted the dire need for a House-elf.

Then, almost as if Druella had read her mind, she asked, “And how is Cygnus? He always has his nose in those ridiculous Muggle books you and Hermione insist on buying him. I can’t remember the last time I saw the boy.”

Cygnus, her seven year old son. The child she shared with her lover, the child she didn’t even know was growing inside her until he decided to make a surprise appearance one cold December night after the War, the child who was the result of the quickest shag she’d ever had with her now deceased husband, the child her mother had seen just a few days ago. 

Bellatrix shook her head and just looked at her. “You saw him on Wed—”

“Is he home? I want to speak with him.”

“He’s out with Andromeda and Teddy—”

“Out? Out where?”

“I think they went a drive into Manchester.” Bellatrix told her. Her head was thumping. There was only so much she could take. 

“A drive? In that horrid Muggle death trap?” She sounded scandalised.

“It’s a car, Mum. The boys wanted to see the sharks, so Annie took them to the Aquarium for a few hours so I could work in peace.” She gestured to the kitchen table where her paperwork still sat in neat little stacks, hoping her mother would take the hint. “I need to get through all this before we go away tomorrow.”

“Ah, that’s right. You’re going on holiday. Where is it that you’re going again, darling?”

“The same place we’ve been every Easter for the past five years,” Bellatrix said shortly. Druella just frowned cluelessly at her through the flames and Bellatrix barely stopped herself from snapping, “We’re going to Skegness, Mum.”

“Oh, yes.” Druella’s face twisted in distaste. “You’re staying in one of those wagon things, aren’t you?”

Bellatrix couldn’t help her snort of laughter. 

When Hermione had first suggested a relaxing break over Easter with the boys, Bellatrix had jumped at the chance. That is until her lover said that she’d booked a caravan in a little seaside town in Lincolnshire for them. The mere mention of the word caravan had been enough for Bellatrix’s blood pressure to skyrocket, then Hermione had given her an earful and told her to stop being such a bloody snob. 

Suffice to say, Easter’s spent in Skegness with Hermione, their son, and their nephew had become an annual event. One that Bellatrix actually rather enjoyed even though she pretended that she only went every year for the boys’ sake. 

“They’re called caravans,” Bellatrix told her. 

Druella wrinkled her nose, and said, “Oh, but the weather’s horrid. It’s been raining all day.”

“The forecast said it’s to clear up later.”

“Hn. Well, tell my grandbabies to Floo call me before you leave tomorrow.”

“Fine. Can you go now? I’m really rather busy.”

Druella drew Bellatrix a scathing look. “Bellatrix Black, is that really any way to speak to your mother? If you were busy all you had to do was say so.”

Bellatrix closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and counted to four. 

Ten was just asking too much. 

“Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all, but it seemed to appease her mother. “I’ll have the boys call you in the morning and I’ll speak to Hermione about Christmas, alright? Now, if you don’t mind, I really have a lot of work to do.”

“You do too much. I worry about you, darling.”

“I know.” Bellatrix also knew that her mother worried about her houseplants not getting enough sun.

“Can’t Hermione help you?” Druella’s eyes fluttered around the kitchen as if expecting to see Hermione there. “Where is the girl anyway?”

“Hermione’s picking up a few things from Diagon,” Bellatrix gritted out between clenched teeth. “And she has enough work of her own to do.”

Druella made the sort of disapproving noise that meant she was about to launch into yet another tirade and Bellatrix closed her eyes again, silently praying for the ground to swallow her up. Or a convenient trap door. A small earthquake perhaps. Any excuse to get away from her mother. 

And then, as if her prayers had been answered, a streak of tan and white skidded across the kitchen floor and dropped a saliva covered tennis ball at her feet. 

Oh, thank Merlin. 

Saved by the family pooch. 

Bellatrix glanced at the wall clock and as expected it was 4 o’clock. The dog was a pest but he did have his merits - namely knowing when it was time for walkies and rescuing her from Druella Black’s clutches. 

“Look, I really have to go. I need to walk this daft mutt.”

Druella wrinkled her nose, and said, “You spoil that beast.”

“I’m home alone, I have no one else to lavish my love on.”

“You have me.”

“Goodbye, Mum.”

“I love you, Bellatrix.”

Bellatrix sighed. “I love you too.”

The Floo call disconnected and Bellatrix sucked her teeth in annoyance. She loved her mother. Of course she did. But Druella Black was bloody hard work sometimes. Bellatrix looked at the dog, who was pawing impatiently at the back door, and she knew that she wouldn’t be getting anymore paperwork done right now. 

With a scowl, Bellatrix glared at the dog, and huffed, “Give me a bloody minute, would you?”

The pitiful whine that followed said that he couldn’t possibly wait a minute. 

It had been dark and miserable all day, but a quick glance out the window told her that at least the rain had stopped for now. Wordlessly, Bellatrix summoned her jacket and a pair of old, muddy walking boots from the hall cupboard, and picked up the slobbery tennis ball. Then, just as she was about to pull the back door open, she heard the whoosh of the Floo again. 

_Morgana, give me strength_ , she thought, and banged her forehead against the door a few times. 

What gossip could her mother have possibly forgotten to fill her in on? Come to think of it, Druella hadn’t given her the rundown of all her friends’ ailments or the latest scandal amongst her Pureblood social circle. 

Oh, joy.

Swearing under her breath, Bellatrix whirled around to face the hearth. 

“Mum—” she began brusquely.

“Hello, Madam Black?” a female voice said. 

Bellatrix startled a little because, barring some emergency networks, her Floo connection was private, and people usually didn’t need to ascertain they were speaking to her when they called. “Speaking. And you are?”

“This is Joyce from St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. We have you listed as Hermione Granger’s emergency contact.”

Bellatrix felt her blood run cold and her heart fall faster than a corpse in cement boots.

“What’s happened?” she demanded.

But her brain stuttered and all but shut down as the Mediwitch continued to speak, and through her haze of panic, Bellatrix barely made out the words _blood loss_ and _skull fracture_ and _stabilise_. She didn’t even register the crack of Apparation or the feel of hands on her shoulders until she’d been guided into a chair at the kitchen table. 

Harry Potter was suddenly crouched beside her chair, dirty and disheveled in his Auror’s uniform, instructing her to take deep breaths.

“There’s been another Death Eater attack,” he told her calmly. “In Diagon. But we’ve — Bellatrix?” 

His voice sounded so far away that Bellatrix felt as if she were reading his lips instead of hearing his words. She was completely paralysed by her emotions and couldn’t think what to do.

Harry repeated, “Bella?” putting his hand on her arm.

Her hearing came back in a sudden rush, like waves crashing against a rocky shore, and she finally managed, “H-how bad is it?”

But she didn’t take in Harry’s reply, if he even gave one at all. All she could hear was the sound of her heart thundering in her ears and the dull thud of the tennis ball as it fell from her limp fingers and rolled across the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was unlike anything I’ve ever written before and I stressed over it for days, hopefully I’ve done it justice! 
> 
> I own nothing. All mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

**2 hours earlier**

The soft drizzle that had been falling relentlessly since before dawn that morning turned into a sudden torrential downpour the moment Hermione stepped foot out of Slug and Jiggers Apothecary. 

Rain thudded mercilessly upon the heart of London, pounding on the rooftops and turning the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley into a warren of slick stones and muddy waters. It had been one of those muggy sort of days that hinted at thunder, but as yet the heavens had yet to snap open. 

According to the forecast that morning, most of the UK was to be pelted with rain for the next few days. 

_April showers indeed_ , she thought with a huff, and cast a quick Impervious Charm to shield her face from the driving rain as she stuffed the apothecary bag containing Bellatrix’s sun cream into her pocket.

She hoped the weather cleared up a little before they went away tomorrow. At this rate she wasn’t sure if Bellatrix would even need the bloody sun cream, but if the weather was still miserable, it wasn’t the end of the world. There was still plenty of things to do in Skegness on rainy days, they’d done so in previous years and had still thoroughly enjoyed themselves. 

But after the year she’d had already, she would’ve happily went on holiday in the middle of a tropical storm if it meant getting away for a few days. 

At the end of the street, the warm light from the Leaky Cauldron’s windows and the trailing smoke from its chimney served as a beacon of refuge for Hermione as she hurried towards the tavern, intent on getting out of the rain so she could Floo home for a hot bath and a mug of sweet tea. Andromeda had Cygnus and Teddy, and would probably keep them for dinner, so if she hurried, maybe she could persuade the witch waiting at home for her to join her for a relaxing soak. She smiled wickedly to herself as she meandered through the crowd and wondered what else she could persuade Bellatrix to do before Andromeda dropped the boys off, maybe they could finish what they’d started that morning? 

Diagon still pulsed with activity and seemed to have a life of its own, flowing like the water that washed over the cobbles. There was chatter between sellers and buyers, old friends catching up, new friends made. It was busy for sure, and the hustle and bustle brought a life to Diagon Alley that Hermione didn’t want to ever be without. Yet it was a little surprising just how busy the narrow street actually was, but it seemed that even with the rotten weather and all the dark wizard attacks happening up and down the country as of late, nothing was going to stop the magical community from enjoying the Easter break.

The atmosphere was still so very different from the hushed, anxious crowds she remembered during Voldemort’s reign of terror, but if the War had taught her anything, it was to always be on her guard, because although there had been mostly peace in their world for nearly a decade now, there was always that underlying fear that carnage could happen anywhere at any time, even in places that she’d always assumed were safe. 

A group of children raced passed her, whooping and screaming with delight as they chased each other through puddles. Their vivid coats and wellington boots made them look like enchanting shoals of fish as they played. She spotted little Timmy - the six-year-old grandson of old Tom, the Leaky’s innkeeper - amongst the group. The little boy was half drowned from the hard rain despite his bright yellow rain coat. His hair flopped inky about his face, hanging in clumps. A quick drying spell would’ve had it back to its usual deep, bouncy brown in seconds, but judging by the wide smile on his face, he was having too much fun with his friends to really care. 

Timmy waved at her as she continued on her way towards the tavern, the corners of his lips tugging into a mischievous smile. There was something so intoxicating about an excited child. The bounce, the pounce, the way they squealed and ran. Hermione recognised the same exuberance for trouble in Timmy that she often saw in her own son and it made her all the more eager to get home to her family as she smiled back, offered a wave of her own. 

She hurried down the street and noticed that the uneven cobbles outside the Leaky Cauldron had a rainbow sheen - all that was left of a child’s game of hopscotch. The outline was still there, a ghostly shadow of what it was before the heavy rains. Above, the sky was still dominated by tumbling greys, smoky and silver, but the sudden downpour had quickly waned to barely a spit now. Hermione’s eyes dropped to her feet as she stepped across the washed out game and her muscles yearned to hop, to skip—

A streak of hot white light split the sky and the street suddenly exploded with fury. 

Hermione was thrown backwards several feet and landed heavily on her side as the ground shook. 

Black spots burst behind her eyes and she found that the air was suddenly absent from her lungs. Winded and in shock, it took a few seconds before she realized she was lying with her cheek pressed firmly into the gravel as stone and dust rained down on her from above. 

Around her, people were shouting and fleeing for cover as glass and debris showered the alley. Something was on fire, sending up the acrid smell of smoke. Papers and books floated through the air in a flurry, and the sound of panic was so intense that Hermione felt as if her ears were bleeding.

_Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit._

Hermione tried to sit up so she could breathe a little better, but cried out when she felt something grind and shift in her side. Broken, something was most definitely broken, and she wheezed with the almighty effort it took to fill her lungs with oxygen.

_Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit._

She hazarded a glance around. People ran. People screamed. People cried.

Flourish and Blotts’ entire shop front had been blown away, the outside wall had completely collapsed, trapping shoppers under tonnes of rubble. People tried to levitate bricks and dig out those who were buried with their bare hands. There were bodies lying everywhere, like macabre confetti over the cobbled street, every eye flung wide in a final moment of terror. 

A woman lay on her back a few feet away, auburn hair splayed around her head like a halo. Blood flowed, thick and sluggish, from a gaping hole in her stomach, spilling out a nest of glistening red snakes. Her mouth moved but Hermione couldn’t hear what she was saying over all the noise, but it looked like she was calling for help. 

_Help me. Help me. Help me_. 

Hermione was quite sure she’d never seen that much blood in her entire life. 

She tried to move again, but something heavy and warm was draped across her legs. With a whimper, she managed to rise up on her hands and roll herself onto her back. Grit and shattered glass dug into her shoulder blades, but she didn’t care. All she could do was clutch at her burning side and pant harshly through her nose in a desperate attempt to catch her breath. Then she pushed up onto her elbow to get a better look at what had her legs pinned - and immediately wished she hadn’t. 

There was another body lying next to her. 

A tiny, mangled body with wet, dark hair.

Oh, no. Please, no.

Hermione croaked, “Tim?”

There was no response.

Tim’s dead eyes reflected the charcoal clouds above, their dark beauty lost in the little boy’s empty gaze. There was a large piece of wood protruding from his side, his once yellow raincoat was now a deep, wet black and was plastered to his skinny frame with blood.

Hermione reached out to press her palms against his mangled flesh. You were supposed to stop bleeding by putting pressure on wounds. But, oh, there was so much blood - dark crimson, with a metallic scent that overpowered her senses and made her want to retch. 

“Timmy?” she tried again, even though she knew he was gone. 

Hot tears stung her eyes, rolled down her cheeks, and she slumped back, dizzy and nauseous.

She felt like she’d swallowed acid.

_Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit._

As slow as possible so as not to jostle Timmy or wrack her aching ribs, Hermione gently slid her legs out from under him. She barely managed to push herself to her feet before another explosion rocked the alley, and she stumbled against the partially crumbling wall that was once the side of Eeylops Owl Emporium. Birds screeched and fluttered in their cages in panic, more screams and shouts rose from further up the fire lit, rubble strewn street. 

That’s when she saw them.

A little ways up the alley, two men stood in the shadows at the corner where Diagon met Knockturn. One of them, thin and dark haired, was leaning against the wall, smoking casually. The other, a huge bear of a man with a bald head and a thick beard, scanned the alley, his eyes furiously darting around, never resting his gaze on one person for long. 

Death Eaters.

Neither of them looked in any hurry to vacate the area and their blasé demeanours alarmed her. The way they were hiding in plain sight alarmed her even more. There was too much mayhem, too much blood, too much everything for anyone to even realise they were just standing there, surveying the carnage with savage satisfaction. 

She watched them for a moment while she clutched her side and caught her breath. What to do? What the fuck to do? She fumbled up her sleeve for her wand. She needed to send for help. Alert the Ministry. Alert the Order. But before she could do so, a cacophony of cracks and pops met her ears over the chaos, and Hermione could’ve wept as Aurors stormed the alley. 

Desperately, she searched their faces, looking for Harry, and found him quickly. But so did the dark haired Death Eater, and he pushed off the wall, flicking his cigarette butt into the dirt. The man reached inside his robe with a twisted grin and pulled out his wand in one fluid motion, pointed it at the back of Harry’s head. 

Hermione shot a quick Stupify at the Death Eater and screamed, “Harry!”

Even over all the noise, about a dozen heads all turned to look at her. The Death Eater misfired in surprise when her poorly aimed hex soared by his ear and the jet of red that was meant for Harry veered off into the crowd and struck a blonde man square in the face. Blood and brain matter sprayed across the cobbles as if from a high pressured hose and the man toppled backwards, his face completely blown away. 

Hermione called out in horror and the whole alley was suddenly alight when spellfire went wild. 

“Take cover!” someone screamed.

An Auror yelled, “It’s a trap!”

And then Hermione found herself on her hands and knees behind a large piece of masonry, but couldn’t recall how she’d got there. Her head throbbed and she reached for her temple, feeling something hot and sticky slide down the side of her face. When she pulled her hand away, her fingers were coated in red. 

A huge boom shook the whole street, then another. Brilliant shocks of light lit up the graphite sky and jagged streaks of colour ricocheted off whatever buildings were still left standing. Pillars of fiery smoke and dust rose, boiling up from where the first explosion had gone off. With a grunt, Hermione scrambled back to her feet and staggered into the nearest side street. 

She couldn’t believe she was willingly fleeing, but she was reeling from the pain in her side and the bleeding gouge on her forehead. 

She needed a moment. She needed to think. She needed to help. 

Maybe she could send a Patronus off to St. Mungo’s, let them know to expect casualties? 

And Bella! 

She needed Bella. 

As quick as she could, she darted down the narrow street behind the Leaky Cauldron and leaned against a dustbin, trying to catch her breath and compose herself enough to cast her Patronus. Then someone touched her shoulder and she spun around, stupidly expecting Harry.

The force of the hand that cracked across her face practically made her head spin and she crumpled like a puppet suddenly released of their strings.

She landed awkwardly on her wrist and bit through her tongue as she fell. Her mouth flooded with blood that gargled thickly in the back of her throat when she let out a strangled cry of surprise. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried desperately to recover her equilibrium, and fumbled blindly for her wand when she realised that it wasn’t clutched in her hand anymore. 

“Fancy seeing you here, mudbitch,” she heard a rough voice say. 

Dizzy from the blow, it took a few moments for the world to come back into focus again and when she finally managed to look up into the face of the man who’d struck her, Hermione felt her blood turn to ice in her veins. 

“You!” she hissed. 

“Well, well, if it ain’t old Bella’s little mudblood whore,” he sneered, pointing his wand at her her. “Long time no see, Granger.”

“Lestrange,” Hermione spat. “I thought Travers got you during the battle at Hogwarts?”

“What, that traitorous old fuck? His stunners couldn’t even make a baby cry,” Lestrange jeered. “Did you miss me, girly?”

“Like a hole in the head! I take it you and your mates are behind all this?”

Lestrange’s eyes lit up, clearly pleased with himself. “Of course.”

“And the other attacks? Trafalgar Square? Edinburgh Castle? Millennium Bridge?”

“Beautiful, eh? Watching them all run and bleed.”

“You’ve killed dozens of people!” Hermione raged. “A little boy died today, did you know that?”

“My heart’s breaking,” he said.

Suddenly, the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps thundered towards them, echoing off the brick walls. For a moment, Hermione thought she was saved, until the two shifty Death Eaters she’d seen earlier appeared from the shadows, and her heart sank. 

Up close, she immediately recognised the skinny, dark haired man who’d tried to murder Harry as Macnair. The nasty little man who’d once worked for the Ministry and tried to execute Buckbeak. He was clutching at a deep gash on his bicep.

“Rabastan!” he panted. “Rabastan! The Aurors! We need to leave! Now!”

“There’s too many!” the big man added with a grunt. He was also sporting a bloodied lip and bruises down one side of his face that had already started to turn black. 

At least the Aurors had got a few good hits it before the greasy brutes had managed to slink away. 

Rabastan snarled, “Where the fucks Pearson?”

“Who cares,” Macnair growled. “Fuck him, let’s go.”

Rabastan cursed under his breath and Hermione took advantage of the brief exchange to scan the narrow street for her wand but it was nowhere in sight. 

“You’re lucky we’re in a hurry, bitch!” Rabastan spat, kicking her foot when he whirled back around to face her.

The movement jarred her ribs enough to make her cry out softly, but Hermione managed to smirk up at him through the pain, and with as much bravado as she could muster, said, “Why don’t you lot get lost?”

Antagonising Rabastan Lestrange was probably the wrong thing to do. He could still just as easy kill her then and there, even if he was in a hurry. But if there was one thing she knew about Rabastan Lestrange, it was that he was a greasy little narcissist who couldn’t stand not having the last word, and hopefully she could stall him long enough for the Aurors to find them. Yet, she could’ve just kept mouth shut and let them run. 

But they’d murdered little Tim, she reminded herself. They’d murdered countless others too. She couldn’t just let them get away.

The noise had died down a little and she knew that Harry and his team would be scouring the streets to find them. 

She just hoped they found her quick. 

Rabastan looked as if he were considering her suggestion for a moment, but she knew better. He crouched down beside her and grabbed a fistful of her hair. “Why don’t you wrap your pretty mouth around my dick and suck it?”

Macnair and the big Death Eater laughed.

“Fuck you,” Hermione ground out, and was briefly shocked by her own audacity when she was wandless and faced with three leering Death Eaters who would probably take her words literally. 

She supposed living with Bellatrix for nearly a decade would do that to you. 

Her witch had no fear.

Rabastan pulled her hair harder, and growled, “Do you kiss Bella with that filthy mouth, muddy? Suck her tits and lick her pussy too, I bet?” His hold was enough to cause her to let out a startled little gasp of pain as he roughly jerked her neck back. “Am I hurting you, girl?”

Hermione barked a laugh and struggled against his hold. “Hardly. Bella pulls my hair harder than that in bed and I scream for more, Lestrange.”

Rabastan’s eyes narrowed and he leaned in further. Up close, his breath was rancid. “Do you kiss my nephew with that mouth as well?” he whispered.

Hermione stilled and Rabastan’s lip curled in cruel satisfaction. 

“Say, do you think he’d be happy to see me if I paid him a little visit?”

“If you go anywhere near my son I’ll fucking kill you,” she flared, baring her teeth. 

He hissed in her ear, “My brother’s probably rolling in his grave knowing Bella’s allowing his kid to be raised by filthy mudblood scum like you!”

“Cygnus is all the better for it!” Hermione snarled, glaring hatefully at him. “He’s a wonderful little boy and he’s grown up without the same rot poisoning his mind that you lot did. Bella and I have made sure of that!”

Rabastan scoffed. 

“You forget, Lestrange. Your brother switched sides. He died fighting for us in the end.”

“Mudblood cunt, shut your filthy lying mouth!” he suddenly roared, thrusting her away from him and jumping back to his feet. He pointed his wand at her again, his whole arm shaking with rage as his eyes burned with a furious hatred.

Still in denial about his brother’s loyalties it would seem.

She hoped his outburst was loud enough to draw the attention of the Aurors.

“Just kill her!” the big bald Death Eater urged. 

And for a moment, Hermione feared he actually would, until he cocked his head like he’d heard something.

She heard it too, in the distance there were voices, a faint, “...check behind the Leaky...”

The Death Eaters startled. Macnair was already half way down the narrow lane with his tail between his legs when he called out, “Move your arse, Rab. Let’s go!” 

“Kill her!” the big one said again, following Macnair.

“I have a better idea,” Rabastan murmured as his friends disappeared into the shadows, and his dark gaze was suddenly so cold that Hermione felt the chill of it race down her spine. 

Rabastan’s next slap was so hard that she was surprised all her teeth remained firmly rooted in her mouth, and she fell back against the wet ground with a grunt. He loomed over her and pressed his boot against her throat, pointed his wand at her head. 

_I can’t breathe_ , Hermione quickly realised, and clawed at his leg in panic. _I can’t_... 

Darkness quickly crept up on the edges of her vision. 

Her mind went fuzzy and she wondered briefly if she’d kissed Bellatrix before leaving home that afternoon. 

If this was the end, she hoped Bella knew that she loved her. 

More than anything. 

Then her eyesight blurred, but not because of the tears welling in her eyes after Rabastan’s stinging slap. Her consciousness floated through an empty space filled with a thick static and her heartbeat pounded loudly, echoing in her ears, alongside Rabastan’s fading laugh. 

Her eyes were so heavy. 

Then a white light blossomed behind her eyes until she saw nothing at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not a doctor and even though I’ve watched nearly every episode of Grey’s Anatomy there will probably (definitely) be some medical inaccuracies, but this is fiction and just for fun so let’s all just roll with it :D 
> 
> I own nothing. All mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

Bellatrix paced. Bellatrix ranted. Bellatrix wrung her hands. Then she paced some more. 

She refused food. She refused coffee. She refused rest. She even refused a bloody cigarette. 

And now, Bellatrix sat in their private waiting room, hunched over in an uncomfortable hospital chair, arms wrapped around her middle, staring blankly at the wall. 

Her leg bounced up and down, a motor tic that only appeared during a crisis, and one that Andromeda hadn’t seen in a very long time. She’d worried her bottom lip with the blunt edge of her teeth so much that the skin had split and bled. Her dark eyes were glassy, distant, unfocused. She wasn’t crying, but the look on her face was somehow worse than crying. 

Bellatrix had never been the best at hiding her feelings and her distress was so palpable it practically radiating off her in waves. 

Andromeda had never seen her sister so distraught. 

Shaking her head and at a loss as to what else she could do now, Andromeda held the urge to rip her own hair out. There was only so many times she could harass the Healers for an update. Even sweet talking a few of her old colleagues for news had proven futile because none of them were dealing directly with Hermione and didn’t know anything more than what the Healers had already told them. 

How long had it been anyway? It was surely nearing midnight now and no one had come to speak to them since Bellatrix had swept into the hospital reception like a vicious tsunami nearly eight hours ago. Every time someone walked past the waiting room, Bellatrix’s head snapped towards the door, looking, hoping, it was someone with news for them, then she’d mutter some expletive under her breath and go back to staring at the wall. 

Andromeda couldn’t even begin to imagine what was going on inside her sister’s head right now, and wasn’t entirely sure that she wanted to. But she didn’t know what else to do now, what to say. 

She felt totally...useless. 

And if there was one thing she hated, it was feeling useless. 

Because Andromeda was a fixer. She tried to fix everything. Not things, but people. She’d done so for over twenty years as a Healer, and she still did it now with her family. 

But she didn’t know how to fix this. 

With a sigh, she crossed to the rickety old tea trolley a Healer had left for them earlier and poured herself another coffee, before turning to Bellatrix. 

“More coffee, love?” she asked tentatively, even though the last mug she’d poured Bellatrix sat cold and untouched on top of the stack of out-of-date _Witch Weekly_ magazines in the middle of the table. 

Bellatrix didn’t answer, eyes glazed as she stared off into space. She looked exhausted, but Andromeda knew she’d be wasting her time if she told her to go home for some sleep. So she poured Bellatrix a fresh coffee anyway, Merlin knows, she looked like she needed one, and squeezed her shoulder as she sat the mug down in front of her. 

At her touch, Bellatrix slowly looked up at her, staring blankly through her as if she wasn’t truly there, unable to process the events that had passed and the events that were happening.

“She was buying sun cream,” she murmured, in somewhat of a daze. 

Andromeda frowned, but before she could ask Bellatrix what the bloody hell she was on about, the fireplace on the far wall flared to life and her boyfriend’s head appeared in the grate. A comforting warmth blossomed in her chest and relief flooded her as she hurried across to the fireplace, eyes raking over the strong stubbled jaw and ruffled brown hair that she loved so much. 

“Hiya, handsome,” she murmured, offering him his usual greeting. 

“Hullo, beautiful,” he drawled in his husky Perthshire baritone, offering her a smile, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “The Mediwitch at reception patched me through. Any news?”

“Ugh, no,” Andromeda groaned, shaking her head in annoyance and leaning heavily against the mantle. “Anytime we ask for an update the Healers act like we need Unspeakable clearance to know what’s bloody going on. All we know so far is that she’s taken a nasty blow to the head and has an intracranial haemorrhage that—”

“An intra what?”

“Intracranial haem...” Andromeda trailed off and pinched her forehead, exasperated. She forgot that he couldn’t speak Healer sometimes. “A bleed. She has a bleed in her skull.”

Alec’s eyes nearly popped out his head and even through the green hue of the Floo flames Andromeda could tell that the blood had drained from his face. “Is - is that bad?”

“It’s a small bleed apparently, and Healers can usually deal with head trauma easier than Muggle doctors can.”

“Right.” Alec took a deep breath. “But she’ll pull through?”

Andromeda rubbed tiredly at her eyes, and murmured, “I hope so.”

Alec’s blue eyes briefly flickered to Bellatrix and then back to Andromeda again, a concerned frown creasing his brow. “How is the old bird doin’? You both look knackered.” 

Andromeda laughed a little, but it was a hollow sound. “Don’t let her hear you say that. She’ll have your bollocks.” Then she cast a sideways glance at her sister, who was sitting with her face in her hands, her whole body practically shaking with the vibration of her bouncing leg, and quietly said, “She’s...okay.”

Alec gave her a meaningful look and nodded grimly. She was glad he was perceptive enough to pick up on her evasiveness, because she couldn’t exactly tell him in front of Bellatrix that she thought her sister was about ready for a nervous breakdown and that she felt like she was going to crack under the strain of keeping them both sane. 

“Sounds pretty rough.”

“Bella’s worried about the head trauma, although the bleed is small, there could still be some sort of brain damage due to the swelling,” Andromeda went on in a hushed voice, bending a little closer towards the hearth. “I don’t want to say the c-word in front of her in case she throws a wobbly but...”

“What, cancer?”

“Coma, dipshit.”

Alec’s eyebrows shot up, “Oh. Fuck.”

“Yeah. Fuck.” Andromeda sighed and raked her hand through her hair a few times. “Are the boys alright?”

“Cyg’s quiet,” he said with a sad, tight-lipped smile. 

“Understandable. His mum’s in hospital with a traumatic head injury and his other mum’s on the verge of mental collapse.”

Alec gave her a sympathetic look. “Teddy’s been trying to cheer him up. They’re watching Star Warriors.”

“It’s Star Wars, love.” _Bloody Pureblood’s_ , Andromeda thought fondly. “It’s getting late though, send them to bed in the next half hour or so, yeah?”

“Will do. Did Potter manage to get a hold of Hermione’s mam?”

“Eventually. She was in Devon visiting her sister but Bella was in a right state and couldn’t remember the address so it took a while to track her down. Harry’s sent an Auror to escort her to the hospital. Poor Jen’s in hysterics of course...”

“No wonder,” Alec sighed, then his mouth twisted into that playful grin of his that never failed to make her legs wobble. “Try not to worry, darlin’. Granger’s made of tough stuff, I mean she’s marrying your sister so...” 

Andromeda shook her head, but she was smiling. It was a poor attempt at making her laugh but the effort was appreciated nonetheless. 

“Are _you_ alright though?” Alec asked when Andromeda didn’t say anything else. “I can come to the hospital if—”

“I’ll be alright when I know Bella and Hermione are.”

Andromeda looked over at Bellatrix again, but Bellatrix wasn’t in her chair. Andromeda launched herself away from the fireplace, looking frantically around the room. Then she spotted Bellatrix at the Mediwitch station outside, arguing with a Healer. 

“Shit. I better go before she puts the full place up in the bloody air,” Andromeda groaned, turning back to the hearth. 

“Chin up. Everything will be alright.”

“I hope so. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The Floo call disconnected and Andromeda hurried out into the hall. She could see the storm in Bellatrix’s eyes as she ranted at the poor, stuttering Healer, and her stomach plummeted. There was never any greyscale to her sister’s temper, only the polar extremes existed, and right now Andromeda knew she had about ten seconds to calm Bellatrix down before she had a full blown meltdown. After that the ward could kiss anything breakable goodbye.

“M-madam Lestrange—” the Healer tried. 

“It’s Black!” Bellatrix all but screeched. “Have you been living under a rock?” 

The young Healer looked petrified as he hid behind his clipboard. Andromeda didn’t blame him really. Bellatrix wasn’t particularly tall but managed to radiate a menacing aura. 

“Bella, why don’t we take a walk?” Andromeda suggested, quickly wrapping her hands around Bellatrix’s shoulders. “You’ve been sitting worrying yourself into a frenzy for hours.”

“No! I don’t want to take a walk, I want to see Hermione!” Bellatrix wrenched away from Andromeda. “What the bloody hell’s taking so long!”

“Bella, please calm down,” Andromeda implored, when she noticed that other people in the ward were starting to look at them. 

“Madam, rest assured we’re doing everything we can,” the Healer said, weakly. “Miss Granger took quite a blow to the head and we need to make sure—”

“I just want to see her,” Bellatrix repeated, desperately, chin trembling. “I - I need to see her. I need to make sure she’s...thats she’s still—”

“Enough, we’re walking,” Andromeda said firmly, looping her arm around Bellatrix’s waist and practically dragging her out of the ward and into the corridor beyond. “Come on. We’re going to get some air and share a smoke, alright.”

“You don’t understand, Annie,” Bellatrix said, voice shrill and cracking slightly as she dug her heels into the shiny hospital floor, desperately trying to twist out of Andromeda’s hold. “What if she - Annie, what if...”

People were openly staring at them now. 

“Don’t say it. Don’t even think it,” Andromeda hissed, and tightened her grip around Bellatrix’s back and shoulders. 

She’d wrestled with patients twice Bellatrix’s size back in the day and had become a bit of an expert at avoiding headbutts and thrashing limbs, but if Bellatrix continued to carry on like a raving lunatic, Andromeda had no qualms about cursing her with a Full Body-Bind, levitating her outside, and shoving a cigarette in her gob to shut her up. Luckily she didn’t need to resort to anything drastic because exhaustion kicked in rather quickly and Bellatrix soon gave up, crumpling against her shoulder. 

So they kept walking, but more slowly now, and Andromeda guided Bellatrix through the winding corridors until they reached the hospital garden - a hidden oasis where decorative planters and wooden benches surrounded a calming trickling fountain. It was bright despite the late hour, the tall glass windows on all sides flooding the little courtyard with light. They sat down on the edge of the fountain and Andromeda lit a cigarette with the end of her wand, taking a few deep drags before passing it to Bellatrix. 

Bellatrix slumped sideways and rested her head on Andromeda’s shoulder. “Thank you. For being here.”

Andromeda murmured, “I wouldn’t be anywhere else. I love you both so much.”

Bellatrix just nodded, cigarette clenched loosely between her fingers as smoke curled like dancing ghosts in the gentle breeze. After a few minutes of silence, Andromeda looked at Bellatrix and was surprised to see tears clinging to her dark lashes. Bellatrix looked for all the world like she’d just gone through all the stages of grief in just a few hours. Andromeda was a little awestruck that someone could feel so much and still be standing. 

She wanted desperately to reassure Bellatrix, but all she could think to say was, “Hermione’s in the best possible place, darling. She’ll be okay.” 

But would she really? 

None of them knew for sure. 

Life could be so wildly cruel at times, giving you the things that you always wanted only to snatch them away from you again when you least expected it. She didn’t question how the world worked anymore. She didn’t question much actually. 

Not since Ted. 

The pain that had consumed her after his murder had eventually dulled to the barest of whispers and the agonising void she’d felt after the War had slowly been filled by Alec. All too well she knew that the path of your life could change in an instant, and even though she’d spent twenty-five wonderful years with Ted, even though she’d cried and screamed and ached for him after his death, she’d finally come to the realisation that some people just weren’t meant to be together until the end of time, no matter how much they wished things could be different. 

But some people were, and Bellatrix Black and Hermione Granger were two of those people. 

And it would be so heartbreakingly unfair if they somehow didn’t make it through this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter bugged the life out of me and I hate it lol. 
> 
> I own nothing. All mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

**3 days later**

Bellatrix’s footsteps echoed sharply around the room as she paced like a caged tiger. 

For the last three days she’d felt the most overwhelming urge to move, because she’d learned a long time ago that if her limbs were moving, then whatever crippling anxiety happened to be plaguing her would be kept at bay. The technique wasn’t particularly working this time, but she still walked, with her hands clasped tightly across her stomach as she fiddled with her knuckles and weaved her fingers in and out of each other.

The globe floating near the centre of the ceiling radiated a dim orange glow. There was no window in the room but the globe was steady and bright enough to relieve the darkness. She supposed the soft light was supposed to be calming during the twilight hours, but she felt anything but calm. 

After a long twenty-four hours of waiting and worrying, the Healers had finally declared that Hermione’s condition was stable, and the first thing Bellatrix had insisted upon was that she be moved to a comfortable suite on the sixth floor. Usually, St. Mungo’s had very strict rules when it came to visitors, but if you were Bellatrix Black and paying top Galleon for a private room, there was no such thing as visiting hours. 

Friends and family had drifted in and out over the last few days, bringing flowers and gifts and words of comfort, but Bellatrix stayed and continued her vigil at Hermione’s bedside. Of course, there were people she wanted to make sure were alright - mainly her son and Andromeda, who’d looked beyond drained when Bellatrix had finally persuaded her to leave - but she couldn’t seem to take her own advice and go home for a few hours to rest and recharge. 

She dared a glance at Hermione, twisting the silver band on her left ring finger as she paced, and wondered how her witch could look so bloody peaceful when she felt like she was falling apart. 

Her lover was hollow cheeked and deathly pale, nearly as white as the sheets tucked around her, the shocking contrast of her dark lashes and sleek, honey brown hair the only deviance from the colourlessness. She looked so small, almost childlike as she lay propped against her fortress of plush pillows, and Bellatrix couldn’t help but be reminded of just how young Hermione actually was. 

Bellatrix didn’t like Hermione’s Healer. He was thin and ginger, and looked fresh out of Hogwarts, and it was beyond her how he could possibly be qualified enough to know what the hell he was talking about. Nevertheless, he’d informed them that they’d gotten the bleed and the swelling under control quickly and wasn’t at all concerned about brain damage or any adverse side effects. She’d also sustained multiple injuries during the attack, but most of them had been superficial and none life threatening, and he’d assured them that Hermione was going to be as good as new in a few days. 

But despite the positive outlook on her prognosis, Bellatrix had still bit his head off, just to have an outlet.

“Bellatrix, sit down,” Jennifer Granger said, for what had to be the fifth or sixth time that evening. 

Bellatrix startled a little and found her mother-in-law’s weary gaze in the dim light - she’d been at the hospital almost as long as Bellatrix had. She was sitting in a comfortable chair at Hermione’s bedside, gently brushing her thumb across the back of her daughter’s hand. She appeared to be much calmer than Bellatrix, but the strain was showing clearly on her face. 

“Jen, I need to keep moving...“ Bellatrix continued to pace, walking one way, then abruptly turning and going the other. “I feel like I’m going to spontaneously combust if I don’t.”

The other woman just shook her head, catching Bellatrix’s arm as she passed on her next lap around the room, and said, ”You’re going to wear a hole in that bloody floor, that’s what you’re going to do.”

Bellatrix came to a halt next to Jennifer’s chair and immediately felt the fear that her pacing had eased begin to swell in her chest again. It bloomed there, like an angry Devil’s Snare, threatening to wrap her up in a tight ball of anxiety that she really didn’t know if she had the strength to handle right now. The tension in her body was so brittle she feared her spine might snap, so she rolled her head from side to side in an attempt to loosen her tight muscles. 

“Sit down,” Jennifer said again. “I’m a nervous wreck as it is and you’re making me worse with your pacing.”

Bellatrix was about to argue but Jennifer’s expression brooked no nonsense, so she slumped heavily into the empty chair at the other side of Hermione’s bed, and grumbled, “I can have a Healer bring you a Draught of Peace for that if you like?”

“Enough of your cheek, young lady,” Jennifer bit back, though her lips were quirked in a shadow of a smile.

Despite her agitation, Bellatrix managed a smile too, and she felt her body relax. She wasn’t sure if the sudden lack of tension in her shoulders was because Jennifer had called her _young lady_ , a long-standing joke they’d shared for years on account of the fact that Bellatrix was actually nearly three years older than her, or because Jennifer reminded her of Hermione when her amber eyes glittered with mirth. Either way, she let out a slow, controlled breath and sat back in her chair. 

“You should go home for a few hours,” Jennifer suggested. “Get some rest.”

Bellatrix couldn’t argue with that, she felt bone-weary and ready to drop. But she wanted to be here, _needed_ to be here when Hermione woke up. 

Jennifer added, “Maybe a nice bath?”

Bellatrix immediately felt offended, and asked, “Why? Do I stink?” She raked a hand through her hair and grimaced at how disgusting it felt to touch - cleansing charms could only do so much after all. 

“No, I wouldn’t be long in telling you if you did,” Jennifer said, rolling her eyes. “But a relaxing soak might make you feel better.”

“I’m fine,” Bellatrix answered. 

“No.” Jennifer gave Bellatrix a stern look. “You’re really not. You’ve been here for three days, Bella. You’ve barely slept a wink, you haven’t eaten—“

“I had an apple.”

“You need to be alright when she wakes up. You won’t be alright if you’re half starved and sleep deprived.” 

Bellatrix snarked, “Yes, Mother.”

“Please. If not for yourself, then for Hermione.” 

“When do you think she’ll wake?” Bellatrix asked evasively, hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction so Jennifer would drop the issue.

The other woman didn’t say anything else but Bellatrix could tell without even looking at her that her lips were pursed in quiet disapproval. Bellatrix didn’t care though. She knew Jennifer meant well, but she couldn’t leave Hermione. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could make her leave Hermione. Not while she was like this, even wild Hippogriff’s couldn’t drag her away. 

A comfortable silence settled over them and Bellatrix reached out to  
touch Hermione’s forearm. Her skin was so cold and Bellatrix rubbed Hermione’s delicate fingers between her hands, trying to warm them up. She wasn’t expecting Hermione to stir, the Healers said it would take a few hours for the various sedatives they’d dosed her with to completely leave her system, but she still felt disappointed when Hermione’s eyes didn’t flicker open. 

She watched Hermione sleeping, watched her chest rise and fall with the sedative qualities of a lullaby. The room was so quiet that Bellatrix could hear each breath with ease and suddenly the world started to blur a little. She hated the feeling of moisture welling in the corners of her eyes and she bit her knuckle. Hard. Then scrubbed the heel of her palm over her face so her treacherous tears couldn’t escape. 

“She doesn’t deserve this,” Bellatrix muttered angrily to herself. Leaning in close, she held Hermione’s limp hand to her mouth, kissed her fingers, quietly pleaded with her to wake up, to come back to her. “She doesn’t deserve any of this.”

“If...if you need a bit of a cry just let it out,” Jennifer said softly, and reached across the bed to squeeze Bellatrix’s hand.

Bellatrix felt her chin wobble pathetically and she closed her eyes, willing her tears away.

“I don’t cry,” Bellatrix said, even though she could think of at least five occasions off the top of her head where she’d broken down in front of Jennifer. 

“I know. But I won’t tell anyone if you do.” 

And in that moment, Bellatrix was truly grateful that Jennifer was there with her instead of her own mother. Because Jennifer was the epitome of tolerance and compassion, a woman who’s eyes spoke of a beautiful soul and who’s reassuring smile told of a need to nurture and protect. Whereas Druella Black would’ve taken one look at her daughter’s tear streaked face, tutted reproachfully, and patted her on the back with a half-hearted, “There, there.”

Then Jennifer’s voice dropped to nearly a whisper, and she continued, “Hell, you’ve seen me cry often enough recently. Who am I to judge?”

Bellatrix didn’t need to ask what she meant and squeezed her hand supportively before letting go. In the midst of all that had gone on over the last few days she’d completely forgot that Jennifer was still grieving for her husband. 

Her husband who’d tragically dropped dead barely two months ago due to a congenital heart defect that no one knew he’d had until the coroner had performed the autopsy. Yes, Jennifer Granger had been through more than most these past few months, and now with her daughter in the state that she was in now, it was a wonder the woman was still holding it all together. 

Bellatrix could also sympathise with her though. Because her own husband had died a horrible death during the War and just a few years ago she’d been beside herself with worry when Cygnus had been rushed to hospital and diagnosed with a chronic metabolic disease he’d now have for the rest of his life. Merlin, she always felt sick whenever she thought about that. She’d already lost one child and coming so close to losing another had nearly destroyed her. Her boy had been lucky though. His father, not so much. 

But she didn’t want to think about that right now. 

Any of it. 

She just wanted Hermione to get better. 

But she also wanted to get her hands on the bastards who did this to her. 

Because Hermione could’ve died. And life without her...well, Bellatrix couldn’t go there. She already felt bereft, like she was missing a limb or something, and Hermione was barely two feet away from her. 

Hermione and Cygnus were priceless - her greatest treasures. They were her everything and her biggest fear was that something terrible happened to them. 

And it was that fear that brought rage, that hot burning anger that sought to do harm to those who had hurt Hermione. The need for revenge was unlike anything she’d ever felt in a very long time. It felt like a rat gnawing at her soul, relentless, persistent, and it would only be ceased by the cold steel of a rat trap - a trap the Aurors would need to devise themselves. 

She knew that most of the Death Eaters had fled the country after Voldemort’s downfall, but that didn’t mean the years since the end of the Second Wizarding War had been peaceful. There was still the odd Dark Lord sympathiser to deal with, and seeing as part of her job with the DMLE was to assist the Aurors to round up Dark Wizards, she was always kept busy. But these recent attacks were worse than anything she’d seen since the War itself, and she felt anger bubble in her chest at how neglectful in their vigilance they’d become having gotten rid of the worst sort of evil in their world since Grindelwald. 

All had seemed safe.

Seemed being the operative word 

She knew their modus operandi well, very well in fact, considering that she’d been one of them less than a decade ago, and knew that they wouldn’t give up until they were either dead or captured. And even though she’d been bewitched into doing Tom Riddle’s dirty work for years, her past was still something she was ashamed to even think about, and she hoped that all the good she’d done since her acquittal had at least went a little ways to proving to the magical community that she was worthy of redemption. 

A rustle of clothes and Bellatrix’s gaze was drawn towards Jennifer again as the other woman got settled into her chair to sleep. Her eyelids had started to droop and she looked like she’d aged more in the last few days than she had in the last decade.

“I hope Harry finds them,” Jennifer murmured tiredly. Her voice was hoarse from lack of sleep, barely a whisper, but it was loud in the silence of the room. “The people who did this...”

“I hope so too,” Bellatrix whispered back. 

Because if she found them first...

She would kill them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed this one ;) 
> 
> I own nothing. All mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

The beach was unlike anything she could’ve imagined on the coast of Britain. 

Untouched golden sand stretched as far as the eye could see. She could taste salt on the soothing ocean breeze as gentle waves lapped at her feet, bubbling and fizzing around her ankles with a soft hiss before peeling away at the deep bronze sand again. Above, the sun shone like a gold Galleon, and a lone cloud drifted by in search of another, the brilliant, fluffy white like the sail of a boat. 

The shore was completely deserted except for a lone figure sitting further up the beach. Someone she knew she liked even though she couldn’t really see who they were. 

An odd notion, indeed. 

She could hear voices. They sounded far away. Muffled, like she’d used a Bubble-Head Charm on herself. But she managed to catch dribs and drabs.

“Looks like she’s dreaming...”

“...should be here soon...convinced them to go home for a bit...”

Warm breath tickled her ear and a man’s voice said, “Mione?”

 _That’s me_ , she thought, stupidly. 

“‘Mione, wake up.”

But that was the thing. She didn’t want to wake up. She wanted to enjoy the beach. She wanted to speak to the someone. 

A woman, she realised. A woman who was leaning back on her hands in the surf with her head tipped back and shapely legs crossed at the ankles. A woman with sun bronzed skin and glossy black hair that shone like a ravens wing under the warm sun. 

“Hermione?” the man said again. His voice was familiar, but she couldn’t seem to place it. “Can you hear me?”

 _Yes, yes I bloody can_!

But she didn’t want to talk to him right now. She wanted to talk to the woman. She felt...drawn to her somehow, and hurried along the beach towards her. But the faster she walked, the further away the woman seemed to get, even though she wasn’t moving. 

“Toilet paper, over or under?” she murmured.

 _Oh, wow. Where the hell did that come from_? 

She didn’t have the first clue, but for some reason it felt important.

“What did she just say?”

“Something about toilet paper?”

The over/under issue was bothering her. Surely everyone knew that hanging the toilet paper over was the correct procedure. That way you were only touching the paper you’d be using for yourself. 

It was only logical. 

Wasn’t it?

She ran and the thick, wet sand seeped between her toes as her legs pumped. The woman was walking away now, all swaying hips and wet bouncing curls. She had to catch her. She had to—

That’s when she became aware of the pain in temple. The hammering ache above her left eyebrow that came and went in nauseating waves. Then her thoughts seemed to sharpen a little when two dots of lights danced in front of her pupils, momentarily blinding her, and she groaned. 

_Merlin, was the sun that bright a moment ago_?

“Hermione, can you open your eyes for me?” a woman with a soft Irish lilt asked. 

_In a minute. I need to speak to_ —

The dark witch turned and held her hand out. 

“Hermione?”

_Almost there_

She reached out. 

“Come on, love. Open your eyes.”

 _Please_.

The tips of their fingers brushed and a jolt, a touch of Fiendfyre shot up her arm, but before Hermione could fully grasp the dark woman’s hand, the world around her dissolved into nothingness and her dream ended abruptly. 

Hermione woke, not to the sand between her toes, or the ocean swirling around her legs, but to the rising feeling of bile in her throat. 

She choked, and when her eyes flew open, her body flexed in shock. Someone grabbed her arm but she wrenched away and immediately rolled to the side, vomiting over the edge of the bed. 

“Bloody hell, my shoes!” a man cried. 

“Get back!” another bit sharply. 

The room around her was fuzzy, her eyesight was dim and her memory as good as negligible, but she knew she was in a hospital room because someone wearing mint green scrubs was leaning over her. Then she groaned when she felt her stomach roll once more. Thankfully, one hard swallow quashed the urge to empty it again. 

“Over or under,” she groaned, without really thinking. 

“What’s she on about?”

“Toilet paper...”

A vague carrousel of random memories and images surged to the forefront of her mind in a vain attempt at thought. Yet she couldn’t seem to grasp onto anything in particular that would give her any insight as to what the bloody hell was happening. Her hands trembled and she had what she suspected to be a gross little vomit flavoured string of saliva between her mouth and her chin. She tried to wipe it away but her shaking hands couldn’t seem to follow orders. 

Hands on her shoulders made her startle. A man’s hands. Thick fingers and blunt nails. Hermione closed her eyes. Trying to...what...remember? Remember what? Adrenaline flooded her system and her heart fluttered like a trapped bird, hammering agains the ribcage. She retched again and another wave of bile rushed up her throat. 

Spluttering and choking, she found herself being passed between rough hands. Her eyes were pried open and her vision was flooded with light again. She whimpered, it was too bright, it was too much. 

“Are you trying to blind the girl, Healer Brown? Get out of the way!” the Irish voice barked, and quite suddenly, the fingers grabbing at her and the unbearably bright light were gone.

“‘Mione,” the familiar man softly said, then warm hands firmly, but gently, cupped either side of her face. “You’re alright, ‘Mione. It’s me. It’s Harry.”

“Harry,” she murmured hoarsely, and as her eyes started to focus, she could just about make out the small features of his face. Messy black hair. A hint of stubble. Round glasses. Evergreen eyes, eyes that softened as she stared into them, eyes that seemed to kickstart her brain a little. 

The smell of wet bark and tent canvas and woodsmoke assaulted her senses in a frightening rush, but it was gone again a moment later, and she groaned, pleading with her mind for more fragments of information. 

_Dark nights, shadows moving, stinging hexes, and Snatchers...yes, Snatchers_!

Hermione choked a little at the memory and glanced around the room as Harry took a step back to give the Healers some space to assess her. 

She was definitely in a hospital. 

She vaguely remembered when they’d visited Mr Weasley after Nagini’s attack a few years ago. The walls had been white then, and the curtain surrounding his bed a shade of green that would’ve reminded her of spring time had it not faded so much that the hue had turned insipid. In this room, the walls were still white, but there were vases of flowers on the table at the end of the bed and beautiful framed pieces of art on the walls. The bed was comfortable too; the covers soft, the pillows plush. 

A young male Healer leaned over her, looking hesitant and unsure. His proximity alarmed her somewhat and she rolled her head to the side. Ron was a few feet away, attempting to Tergeo his vomit soaked shoes, but even though her head was practically mush, she could clearly see that his wand movements were all wrong. 

“Welcome back, Hermione,” the female Healer said quickly, but calmly. “We’ve all been very worried about you. My name’s Sheila and I’m a Healer at St.Mungo’s, which is where you are now. You with me so far?”

Sheila was an older witch with blonde bobbed hair, soft blue eyes, and a kind smile. 

Hermione immediately felt herself relax and nodded, swallowing thickly. Harry reached for her hand and squeezed it gently in reassurance. 

“Good girl,” Sheila smiled. “Now, just try an’ relax for a bit while we check you over, alright?”

Hermione nodded again and turned back to Harry as Sheila lifted her wand and started to cast a series of diagnostic charms over her body. 

“There you are,” Harry grinned, looking tired and pale but very happy to see her all the same. 

The swell of emotion that Hermione felt at seeing him was almost overwhelming. She had no idea how much she loved her two best friends until they were right there in front of her, safe and whole and covered in vomit, but...alive. 

Oh, Merlin, they were alive. 

So did that mean...the War...did that mean...

 _Mild March air, varnish on the polished wooden floor, a scuffle over the fake Sword of Gryffindor_.

“Oh, Harry,” she murmured, and felt her throat tighten with emotion. “I’m so glad you’re alive.”

Harry looked puzzled for a moment, then he laughed. Actually laughed. “Of course,” he chuckled. “It’ll take more than a few Death Eater’s to take me down. Thank you by the way, that was a nice save with Macnair back in Diagon.”

Hermione blinked, confused, and asked, “But we won right?”

“For now,” Harry told her. “Don’t you worry about any of that though. Just you rest, yeah? Sheila here’s been taking good care of you.”

“Yeah, ‘Mione,” Ron chimed in, having finally mastered the cleaning spell on his shoes. “Don’t you panic or nothing, okay?”

For a few moments, Hermione was tremendously happy. A tumultuous sort of emotion the likes of which she’d never experienced before rocked her very soul and she felt tears prick her eyes. She squeezed Harry’s hand, desperate to know what had happened to her. 

“Did...” her voice cracked, hoarsely. 

“Water,” Ron said, and held a plastic cup up to her lips. “Get that down you. Your mouth must be drier than a camels arse.”

Harry laughed and she could see Sheila’s shoulders shake out of the corner of her eye. Hermione wanted to roll her eyes, but couldn’t quite find the energy to do so, and reached for the water. Only her arm flopped listlessly back down onto the mattress with a soft thud and she gasped softly. 

“Don’t worry,” Sheila quickly reassured, obviously noting the way Hermione looked at her arm in shock. “You’ve been doped up on some pretty strong sedatives for the past few days so you might be a little sluggish.”

“R-right,” Hermione nodded shakily and Ron held the cup to her chapped lips. She was only able to face a few mouthfuls before the threat of more vomiting made her grimace and pull away. 

Sheila patted Hermione’s shoulder, and said, “Your vitals look okay. Any pain?” Hermione shook her head and the Healer smiled. “Grand. Can I leave you in Mr Potter and Mr Weasley’s capable hands for five minutes while I fetch the Healer in charge? He’ll want to do his own assessments.”

Ron’s blue eyes twinkled cheekily, and he tried, “Ten?” 

Sheila smiled and rolled her eyes, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Sheila swished off, jerking her head at Healer Brown, who quickly trailed after her like a puppy. When the door closed with a soft snick, Harry turned back to Hermione, his forehead and the space between his dark brows etched with serious lines.

“Do you remember how you got here?” he asked, perching on the edge of the bed. 

“No.” Hermione shook her head gently. “It’s...it’s all a bit of a blur.”

“You took quite a bump to the head. You gave us all quite a scare.”

“‘M sorry.”

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault,” Ron told her, and pulled up a comfortable looking chair next to her bed. “If it wasn’t for those ruddy Death Eaters messing everything up then—“

“How long has it been? Was...was anyone else hurt?”

Harry told her, “You’ve been out for four days.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. 

_It’s only been four days since_...

“You had quite a serious head injury,” Ron explained, tapping his forehead. “Amongst others things. The Healers had to sedate you while they made you better. There were...a lot of casualties.”

Harry gave her a sympathetic look, his lips pursed in a grim line, and patted her hand. “Hermione, I’m sorry. Little Tim died. I know how much you—“

Hermione’s eyebrows drew together. “Sorry, who?” 

Harry blinked. “Um, Timmy. Old Tom’s grandson.”

Hermione just stared at him. “That sounds terrible but...am I supposed to know who that is?”

“Tom at the Leaky,” Ron told her, narrowing his eyes the way he usually did whenever he was trying to suss something out. “His grandson. Timmy.”

“I didn’t know Tom had a grandson.”

Harry and Ron gawked at each other for a moment, then Ron laughed nervously, and asked. “You’re joking, right?”

Hermione could feel her heart start to beat a little faster at the look of worry and apprehensive on her friends’ faces. 

Ron held his breath for a moment, then hopefully asked, “You know who you are, right?”

“Yes, of course I do, Ronald!” she couldn’t help but snap, but her own words made her heart feel numb. Something was...wrong. “I’m Hermione.”

“Hermione...” Harry encouraged.

“Granger! I’m Hermione Granger!”

“And you know why you’re here, right?” Ron pressed.

“I’m guessing I suffered some sort of head trauma when I was attacked?”

“Attacked?” Ron’s mouth dropped. “Is that what happened to you? In the alley? We all thought a brick knocked you in the noggin.”

“She’s probably still a bit loopy from the sedatives,” Harry guessed, but it was clear to Hermione that he was trying to sound optimistic. 

He really did look tired. He had bags under his eyes and there were more wrinkles on his forehead than she ever remembered. He really should stop frowning so much. 

“I’m not bloody loopy! What are you talking about?” Hermione cried. She felt her breathing become shallower as her eyes flitted accusingly between her two best friends’ concerned faces. What kind of sick joke were they playing? “You...you were there. At Malfoy Manor...”

Ron opened his mouth to retort but Harry nudged him with his foot, and stared at Hermione intently, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Harry’s words seemed to spur her brain into action and she felt her chest tighten as frightening images tumbled forth. 

_Black. Black hair. Black nails. Black eyes. Soulless eyes_.

“B-bellatrix,” she choked, and for one strange moment she could’ve worn that both boys looked...relieved.

 _The sharp point of a blade piercing flesh. Raw, agonised screams. The metallic taste of blood in the air. The scent of her own fear_.

“I must’ve passed out when - when she...”

Ron muttered, “This is bad, Harry...”

Hermione felt mildly irritated by Ron’s dramatic tone.

“No, Hermione,” Harry shook his head. “You were in Diagon, remember? There was another attack. You hit your head during the commotion and—“

“No! She tortured me!” Hermione’s head thumped. Nothing they said was making any sense. “You were there, you were both there—”

Shaking his head, Harry stood quickly from the bed. “Why don’t you rest, Hermione,” he said. “Ron’ll sit with you. I’m just going to get Sheila, alright?”

Slack jawed and incredulous, Hermione could only stare at them both. Harry’s brow was creased in concern and Ron stood beside him, pale and silent, and she felt her heart began to race. In the seven years she’d known them, she knew that Harry never made that face and Ron was never silent unless something was really, really wrong. 

She wanted to scream at them, tell them to stop fooling around, but a commotion in the corridor made them all turn. 

“Did she wake?” a voice asked. A voice that sounded an awful lot like...

“Mum!” Hermione cried, when Jennifer Granger appeared in the hall outside her room window with Sheila and another Healer she didn’t recognise. 

“Oh, shit!” Ron choked, darting for the door. But before he could reach it, it burst open and a little boy with black tousled curls came hurtling in, nearly knocking Ron off his feet. 

“Mum!” the boy cried joyously, talking a mile a minute as he bounded towards the bed. “Is your sore head better? Did you get my card? What’s it like sleeping in the hospital?”

Merlin, what was happening? Who was this boy? Why was he calling her mum? When did her parents get back from Australia? Why were her friends behaving like raving lunatics?

With the reflexes of a Seeker, Harry lunged for the boy and caught him around his skinny shoulders before he reached the bed. “Come outside, mate. Your mum’s in a bit of shock and—“

“Darling, you’re awake!” her mother beamed, opening her arms as she rushed towards her. 

She was dreaming, she decided. 

She had to be. 

Then a terrifying streak of black appeared in the doorway. Hermione felt all her muscles clench involuntarily. Her breathing quickened, each sharp inhale coming in great, heaving gasps. 

No. 

Not a dream.

“There you are, kitten. You had us all worried.”

More like a fucking nightmare. 

Bellatrix Lestrange stood at the bottom of her bed, all wild black hair and wicked red lips.

Hermione screamed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick thank you to you all, over 5000 hits on ‘September’! 
> 
> I own nothing. All mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

“So she remembers nothing?” Harry murmured. 

Bellatrix looked into Hermione’s room, gripping the edge of the window with both hands in a white knuckled grip. 

It had taken nearly thirty minutes, four Healers, and a rather large dose of Drowsiness Draught to finally calm Hermione’s hysteria. Everyone had been left more than a little shaken by the ordeal, none more so than Cygnus. Her poor boy had been left confused and distraught at the sight of his mother in the throes of a complete and utter meltdown, and Narcissa had been Floo’d to collect him. 

“Well, not nothing,” Bellatrix muttered. “Just the last eight years of her life. Just me. Just our boy...”

“Blimey! And she won’t have a clue about the wedding either, will she?” Ron added glumly, much to Bellatrix’s dismay.

“Probably not.” 

Harry reached out and squeezed Bellatrix’s shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll be alright, yeah,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. 

But Bellatrix just shrugged away and folded her arms across her chest. Through the window she watched Hermione. Sheila was with her, perched on the edge of the bed, soothingly stroking her hand as a doddering old Healer with a fringe of white hair around his balding, mottled scalp asked her questions.

She watched the sluggish dip of Hermione’s head as the Healer spoke to her, and the way Sheila reached out every so often to brush away the stray tears that rolled down her love’s face. Bellatrix felt her chest tighten, wanting nothing more in that moment than to go to her. To pull her close, to hold her, comfort her. 

She thought back to the last morning they’d spent together. Thought about the long, slow fuck they’d shared and the lazy morning they’d spent eating toast and watching telly with Cygnus before Andromeda and Teddy whisked him away to the aquarium. Thought about Hermione’s hands in her hair and her warm lips against hers before they’d parted ways so she could finish up last minute paperwork and Hermione could venture into Diagon for an afternoon of preholiday errands. 

She wondered if she’d told Hermione that she loved her. Probably not. There was rarely any need to nowadays, not when they showed each other everyday. 

Maybe they shouldn’t have taken their life for granted.

Bellatrix felt her face grow hot and dug the heels of her palms into her eyes. It would do no good for her to break down now. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice, and if they did, they didn’t mention it. After a while, Jennifer appeared at her side and looped her arm through hers. Jennifer didn’t say anything and Bellatrix didn’t push her away. 

Finally, the white haired Healer shuffled out of Hermione’s room, and Merlin’s bollocks, if Bellatrix thought the little, ginger imbecile from yesterday was bad, then this old dinosaur was worse. He had to be at least two hundred years old, with a weak chin and a distinct hunch in his back. 

“You the family?” he rasped, in a voice so rough it made Mad-Eye Moody sound like a prepubescent girl. 

Bellatrix instantly disliked him and immediately felt her temper flare. “No, love, we’re here for the view,” she retorted, scathingly. 

“Bella,” Jennifer hissed, squeezing her arm in warning before turning pleading brown eyes on the Healer. “Please, Doctor, what can you tell us?”

“It’s Healer, Ma’am,” the man corrected, and tapped his name badge with a gnarled finger. “Healer Pratt.”

Ron scoffed loudly and Harry jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow. 

“Semantics,” Bellatrix growled, impatiently. “Get to the bloody point, would you?”

Healer Pratt flashed what he probably thought was a charming smile and started flipping through Hermione’s chart. “It looks like she’s suffering from a severe case of amnesia.”

“Amnesia?” Ron parroted.

Pratt nodded. “It means—”

“We know what it means!” Bellatrix said, voice clipped. 

“The memory loss appears to be quite extensive,” the Healer continued, seemingly unperturbed by Bellatrix’s waspish tone. Either he was immune to her barbed tongue or she was losing her touch. “It’s rather fascinating, actually. She thinks it’s still 1998.”

Bellatrix snapped, “It’s not bloody fascinating. She’s been here for four days, why has no one picked up on this before now?”

“Now, Madam Lestrange,” Pratt went on in a most condescending tone. Bellatrix bristled at his slip and felt a muscle near her eye twitch. “I’m sure with some rest, Miss Granger will regain most of her memories.”

“And when will that be?” Bellatrix demanded, clenching her fists so hard that her nails bit into her palms.

“Memory loss caused by a fall or a knock to the head isn’t something we usually encounter here at St. Mungo’s. Head trauma caused by spell damage and potion experiments gone awry are more our forte.”

Bellatrix clenched here jaw and ground out, “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Ah. It’s hard to say. Hopefully the amnesia will resolve itself over time. How much time? Well...” Pratt lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. 

Bellatrix wanted to slap him. Fists white and shaking with rage, she tried to swallow her anger, but it grew hot like a fire seed in her belly and she knew she was seconds away from spitting flames hotter than any dragon ever could. 

“So it could be weeks?” Harry frowned. 

Ron gulped, “Or - or months?”

“Or never at all...” Jennifer murmured. 

Healer Pratt held his arms open and shrugged again, “I really don’t know...”

Bellatrix saw red. 

“Is there anything you _do_ know!” she flared, all her anger suddenly pouring from her like boiling magma as she took a few angry steps towards the Healer. 

“Bella—” Jennifer said quickly, snatching Bellatrix’s sleeve and pulling her back with a vicious yank.

Healer Pratt raised his palms and took a hesitant step back. “Madam Lestrange—”

Ron puffed out his cheeks, and muttered, “Oh, shite, she’s gonna go off on one in a minute...”

“Madam Black!” Bellatrix corrected with a growl. “That other fool, the ginger one, he said things were very good. He said—”

“M-madam Lestrange, please—”

“It’s Black! Are you deaf or just stupid!”

“— a brain injury isn’t like a broken bone or a cut or a bruise,” Healer Pratt tried to reason. “Brains are much less predictable. Sometimes, when swelling tissue presses against the skull it can cause some impairment.”

“Some impairment?” Bellatrix all but roared in his face. “ _Some_ impairment! She doesn’t remember me! She doesn’t remember our son!”

“There she goes,” Ron sighed. 

Harry shoved at his shoulder, and hissed, “Shut it, you’re not helping.”

“Calm down, love,” Jennifer tried. 

Bellatrix pointed a shaking finger at the Healer, and raged, “I will not fucking calm down! This man is being deliberately unhelpful!”

Pratt dropped Hermione’s chart in fright and shrivelled before her. “Even though she’s alert, the swelling could’ve caused more damage than we first thought,” he said, meekly. “Memory loss and confusion are consistent with her injuries. I assure you, it’s normal.”

Ron shook his head, and muttered, “Nothing about this is normal, mate.”

“What do we do now?” Jennifer pressed, clutching at Bellatrix’s arm - more for the Healer’s sake than anything else. “What can we do?”

“All I can suggest is that Miss Granger has plenty of rest for the next few weeks. I’ll have some potions bottle up for her - memory enhancers and the like. You can take her home in a few days once we’ve did some additional tests.“

“This is horseshit,” Bellatrix seethed. Jennifer slapped her arm. 

“I would recommend some time off work. At least a few weeks,” Healer Pratt added. “What is it that she does?”

“She works at the Ministry,” Harry explained, bending to pick up Hermione’s notes. “Level four.”

“Ah, magical creatures,” Pratt nodded, and took the files from Harry with a tight smile. “I would limit anything taxing on the eyes for at least a week. Writing. Reading.”

“She won’t be happy if she can’t read,” Ron insisted. “She’ll have nothing to bloody do.”

“That’s the point,” Pratt told him. “The brain needs time to heal.”

Jennifer asked, “What is the next step?”

“The sooner she’s settled back into her normal routine, the better. She should be reintroduced to her life. Slowly. And starting in a week or so I’m going to recommend that Hermione see our specialist from the Janus Thickey ward...” 

Pratt trailed off and looked away. He avoided Bellatrix’s gaze in particular and it was blatantly obvious why - it was no secret that Bellatrix had personally put two of the Janus Thickey wards longest residing patients there herself twenty-five years previously. 

Pratt cleared his throat, and went on, “He usually deals with brains that have been affected by long term spell damage, but he may be able to offer Miss Granger some assistance.” Then he gave them his most sympathetic look, and said, “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help. Healer Callaghan will let you in to see Miss Granger once she’s settled. Excuse me.”

He left, leaving them all in stunned silence.

* * *

The next morning didn’t bring Bellatrix the answers she was looking for, but the quiet house afforded her a moment to just breathe after what was probably the worst nights sleep she’d ever had. 

She’d roused before the sun and had lain for over an hour on Hermione’s side of the bed, clinging desperately to her love’s pillow while her scent still lingered, until she’d finally decided to stop wallowing and make a start to the day. And now, as Bellatrix stood at the kitchen window, drumming her fingers on her mug while she waited for the kettle to boil, she couldn’t help but imagine how different her morning would’ve been if her witch had been with her. 

They should’ve been in Skegness still, making breakfast in their cosy caravan while they waited for the boys to wake up. She imagined Hermione playfully lecturing her about the three spoonfuls of sugar in her coffee and the boys joining in on their banter when they finally joined them when the smell of bacon and toast lured them from their room. 

Taking a deep breath, Bellatrix tried to usher the sentimental thoughts from her mind when the whistling kettle mercifully dragged her from her reverie. There was one thought that kept lingering as she stirred water into her coffee though. 

She couldn’t seem to shake the look of absolute terror on Hermione’s face when she’d walked into that hospital room yesterday. 

Bellatrix didn’t think she’d ever seen her witch look so terrified and she tried to ignore the way her heart clenched painfully as she took a tentative sip of coffee and turned away from the window. 

“Mum?” 

Cygnus surprised her as he stumbled into the kitchen in his pyjamas, and coffee spewed up at the startled jerk of Bellatrix’s hand, splashing all over the front of her dressing gown. 

“Bloody hell, Cygnus!” she sputtered, clutching at her chest while her heart vibrated in her throat. “You nearly gave me a heart—”

Her mouth closed with an abrupt snap as she looked at her son. His skin was so pale it almost had a waxy appearance and his hands visibly trembled as he sluggishly moved towards her. 

Calmly, Bellatrix asked, “Are your sugars low, poppet?”

“‘M havin’ a hypo,” Cygnus mumbled lethargically, and his little forehead creased in confusion when his lips stuttered around the word.

Bellatrix immediately sprang into action, all but throwing her mug in the sink, and steered him into a chair at the kitchen table. She quickly summoned a glass and a carton of orange juice, then pressed the glass into Cygnus’ clammy palm, and guided it to his mouth. 

“Get that down you, love,” she said, softly. “Down the hatch. Good boy.”

Cygnus just hummed as he noisily gulped his juice, and Bellatrix pulled out a chair beside him. 

Although Bellatrix had witnessed numerous bouts of low blood sugar since Cygnus’ diagnosis, the muddled symptoms that her son often experienced with diabetic hypoglycaemia still upset her. Usually, Cygnus was capable of recognising the warning signs before things spiralled too far out of control and often managed to deal with the situation by himself. But with the unexpected stress of the last few days, Cygnus’ blood sugar levels had been less predictable than usual. 

Bellatrix asked, “Did you use your kit to test your sugars or did you just feel horrible and come downstairs?”

“Tested...” Cygnus mumbled. “It was two...”

“Two?” Bellatrix’s eyebrows shot up. A healthy blood sugar level was anything between five and seven. A reading under four was dangerous and required a glucose rush, and anything over eight required a quick correction with a shot of insulin. But two? Two was terribly low, it was a wonder he’d made it downstairs. “You should’ve shouted for me, darling. I would’ve brought your juice upstairs.”

Cygnus just hummed and finished the rest of his orange juice in one long gulp. 

Bellatrix took his empty glass and put it on the table. Cygnus slumped back in his chair, completely boneless, and closed his eyes while he waited for his juice to work its magic. She didn’t speak to him, knowing he could sometimes become stroppy and tearful while he was waiting for his glucose levels to rise. But it didn’t take long before he began to perk up again, and after several minutes Bellatrix was pleased to see the brightness return to his eyes and the rosy flush on his face. 

“Better?” she asked, forking her fingers through his unruly, dark brown hair. He grumbled in response and tried to push her hand away even though his coordination was still a little off.

Oh, yes, definitely better. 

She crossed to the cupboard and picked him out a couple of biscuits, knowing that he needed to eat carbohydrates to maintain his sugars because the juice alone wouldn’t stop his levels from dipping again. 

“Can I have another drink?” he asked, taking the plate of Jammie Dodgers she levitated across the kitchen to him.

“Of course,” she said, and set about making herself more coffee. “What would you like?”

“Milk? So I can dip my biscuits?”

Bellatrix just nodded, summoning another glass out of the cupboard and milk from the fridge with a quick Accio.

“Why’re you up so early anyway?” Cygnus asked when she returned to the table, sounding worried as he nibbled around the edge of his  
biscuit. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine, poppet.” It was a lie, of course, but the last thing she wanted was for Cygnus to worry about her when he was already anxious and confused about Hermione. 

“You’re worried about Mum, aren’t you?” he fretted, straight to the point as usual. 

Bellatrix’s mug froze midway to her lips and a brief second of panic pierced her heart. Slowly, she lowered her mug, and he stared at her, a familiar look of determination on his upturned face, and Bellatrix knew it would be pointless to try and evade the question. 

“I am,” she admitted softly, and put her mug down.

“You don’t have to keep things from me, you know?” he said, wrinkling his nose in annoyance. “I’m not a baby.”

“You’re my baby,” she reminded him. “It’s my job to protect you from—”

“ _Mum_!” Wide eyed, Cygnus threw Bellatrix a look that was half pained, half embarrassed. “I’m nearly eight!” he mumbled around another few nibbles of Jammie Dodger, even though he wasn’t eight until December. 

Bellatrix rolled her eyes to mask the little spike of hurt she always felt in her chest whenever her child cringed at something even remotely affectionate, and sighed, “I suppose you have questions, hm?”

Hesitantly, Cygnus looked down at his hands and started fiddling with his fingers. Bellatrix covered his hands with hers, and he asked, “Is Mum going to be ok?”

“I don’t know,” she told him honestly. 

Cygnus’ head snapped up, and he looked at her with wide, worried eyes. “Is - is she going to die?”

“Oh, darling, no! Of course not!” Bellatrix quickly pulled him into an embrace and Cygnus’ little arms immediately wrapped around her neck. “Mum’s just...she’s just...” 

“Just what?” he mumbled against her shoulder. 

“Cyg, do you know what amnesia is?” He shook his head against her neck, and she took her time considering the question, wanting to explain it in a way that would make sense to him. “Sometimes...” she paused, choosing her words delicately. “Sometimes, if a person bumps their head really hard, they can...have trouble remembering.”

“Is that what happened to Mum?” Cygnus asked quietly. “She looked really scared yesterday...”

Bellatrix nodded, feeling her throat go dry, and it was an effort to push out her next words. “When she woke up...Cygnus, she forgot a lot of things.”

Cygnus pulled away a little and Bellatrix could see by the way his brows drew together in a frown that he was struggling to fully understand, a seven-year-old boy’s vague comprehension that something was very wrong. 

Quietly, he asked, “Did she forget you?” 

Bellatrix swallowed. “Yes.”

Quieter still, almost a whisper, “Did..did she forget _me_?” 

Bellatrix looked directly at him, and said, “Yes.”

Cygnus’ whole face crumpled in anguish and Bellatrix could see the way his blue eyes clouded with questions as he slumped back in his chair and wrapped his arms around his stomach. 

“Listen,” she said, leaning forwards and squeezing his knee reassuringly. “I don’t want you to worry about any of this. The Healers said her memories could come back in time.”

Cygnus held eye contact with his mother for a long moment before looking away. “But what if they don’t?” he whispered. 

Bellatrix held his face between her hands and turned his head towards her again, stroked her thumbs over his cheeks; to reassure him, as she knew he needed. His eyes were like a storm tossed ocean, smoky clouds of blue and grey that were so full of life yet so uncertain.

“Then we’ll just need to remind her how much she loves us,” Bellatrix said, finally. “And how much we love her.”

Almost smiling, Cygnus nodded.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dunno how happy I am with this but here’s Chapter 7 for ya’ll. 
> 
> I own nothing. All mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

Harry had ridden the lift down to the morgue countless times during his Auror career, but ever since the rickety, old thing had jammed, trapping him for almost an hour while the hospital maintenance team tried to rescue him, he always held his breath and counted to twenty - the length of time it should’ve taken to get from reception to the basement. 

He was at forty-two and a second away from calling for help when the lift finally came to a shuddering halt and a loud ding echoed around the tiled room as the doors scraped open. 

Cosette stood in the corridor gripping a gurney, staring at him with wide brown eyes. “Merde, I thought it was stuck again,” she said in her heavily accented English. 

“So did I.” Harry’s shoulder shook with a nervous little laugh, and he quickly stepped out of the temperamental contraption, gripping the other end of the gurney as he did so. “Here, let me help.”

“Merci, Harry,” Cosette smiled as they manoeuvred the gurney down the corridor together. “How’s your friend?” she asked. “I heard she woke?”

Harry made a tight face and shook his head.

“Oh? Not good?” 

“She seems to have a bit of memory loss. I dropped off some old newspapers this morning but...” He shrugged and trailed off. 

Cosette gave him a sympathetic look and didn’t say anything else. 

Cosette Vandeville was the hospital’s medical examiner; a Half-Blood witch originally from the town of Colmar in the Alsace region of France. She’d relocated to London shortly after graduating from Beauxbatons and St. Mungo’s had quickly snapped her up. She was a tiny little thing, with short, curly blonde hair, a wide smile, and earthy, brown eyes. 

Ron had described her once as _absolutely terrifying_ , but to this day neither of them had disclosed what exactly had gone wrong on their first - and last - clearly disastrous date. 

Harry didn’t even want to know, and he’d never dare ask! 

They pushed the gurney into the large tiled examination room where a young man wearing Healers robes that looked three sizes too big for him was arranging all sorts of weird looking instruments on a metal tray. 

“André!” Cosette called, waving him over. “Come meet Auror Potter while we take a look at Joe Bloggs?”

“Joe Bloggs?” the young man blinked, looking beyond confused as he flapped over to them in his baggy scrubs. “Is that the Diagon bloke? I thought we didn’t know his name?”

Cosette made a long-suffering noise, and said, “Harry, this is André. My new intern.”

“It’s just a term we use for a male party who’s true identity isn’t known yet,” Harry offered helpfully. “You know like in CSI when they find a body and call them John Doe?” The intern just blinked at him and Harry sighed, extending his hand. “Anyway, nice to meet you, André.”

“Oh, uh, it’s Andrew, actually,” he muttered, shaking Harry’s hand as Cosette pulled the sheet back on the gurney. 

Harry recoiled a little at the sight of the man - the only casualty yet to be formally identified from the Diagon attack. 

After everything he’d seen during the War and throughout his Auror career, there wasn’t much that could turn Harry’s stomach, but that didn’t make looking at the poor bugger any easier. 

The man’s face had been completely blown away, nothing more than a mangled mess of tattered flesh and shattered pieces of bone. But the thing that bothered Harry most wasn’t the gruesome injury, but the fact that whatever spell had pulverised this man’s face had been intended for him. If Hermione hadn’t called out to him in time then...

Beside him Andrew gasped, and Harry asked, “Are you—“ just as the young intern shouldered past him, gagging. 

The one and only bathroom in the morgue was at the other end of the corridor next to Cosette’s office, and judging by the retching noise and distinct sound of splatter just outside the examination room, Andrew hadn’t made it. 

“Merde, not again,” Cosette swore under her breath, then louder, she called, “You better clean that up!”

“Is he ok?” Harry frowned.

“Who cares,” Cosette grumbled. 

Harry shrugged. “So, what can you tell me about this guy?”

Cosette picked up her clipboard and flicked through her notes. “Caucasian male, five feet seven inches, ninety-eight pounds.”

Harry took out a small notebook from his pocket and began to write, asking, “Any idea how old he is?”

“Hard to tell really,” Cosette shrugged. “Usually I’d look at the skull to estimate an age but...” She cleared her throat. “I examined his clavicle, though,” she went on, and at Harry’s puzzled frown, she explained, “You see, the clavicle matures with age, it’s the last bone in the body to complete growth, usually around twenty-five. And his clavicle is fully developed.”

“Right, so he’s at least twenty-five?” Harry said. 

“At least,” Cosette confirmed, nodding. “But by the look of him in general I’d say late thirties, early forties. His clothes looked...well, not new, but he wasn’t exactly homeless.” Cosette jerked her head at the pile of clothes on the table behind her, neatly folded and wrapped in a clear bag. “He’s a little underweight,” she went on. “But not to the extent that would make you think he wasn’t having at least one decent meal a day.” 

“You haven’t given me much to go on. We can’t even get a photo of him to send out to the public,” Harry shook his head, irritated. 

“No,” Cosette agreed. “But I’ve found a few distinguishing marks  
that might help to identify him.”

“Show me.”

Cosette rolled the sheet further down the man’s body and Harry’s eyes were immediately drawn to the red patches of crusty skin all over his torso and arms. 

“Some sort of skin condition,” Cosette told him. “It looks like psoriasis. I’ve sent a sample up to the third floor just in case anyone from Potions and Plant Poisoning can come up with anything else.”

“I’ll send someone to ask around the Apothecary’s,” Harry said, sucking the end of his own thoughtfully. “See if the vendors know of anyone who goes in on a regular basis for—“

“I wouldn’t bother,” Cosette interrupted. She lifted the man’s hand to show Harry. His fingers looked contorted and swollen, pale skin stretched taut over hard lumps in his knuckles. “See his hands? Psoriasis can also cause psoriatic arthritis if left untreated. And this doesn’t look like it’s been tended to for quite some time. Like I said, I’ll know more when I get the sample results from upstairs, but...”

Harry sighed, “Right.”

“That’s not all, though” Cosette said, and went on to show Harry a few other interesting marks. 

The man had a few notable scars; some old and white, others pink and shiny. The newness of some of them made Harry wonder what this man did for a living. He also had a brown birthmark, Harry thought it looked like a soggy tea bag, and it lurked on his stomach next to his navel like an over eager love bite. 

“I’ll get someone down to the _Prophet_ offices right away,” Harry said. “Ask them to publish a missing person’s ad with tomorrows edition.”

“Good idea,” Cosette agreed. “Somebody must be missing him.”

“Definitely. I mean how many blokes could there be walking around in Wizarding Britain with bad psoriasis and a tea bag on their stomach?” Harry asked, scratching his chin. 

Cosette gave him a funny look, then slowly said, “There was something else.”

Harry cocked a brow, “Oh?”

“Look here.” She bent over the body again and gestured to the man’s neck. Flakey red patches covered most of his skin but Harry could just about make out what appeared to be an old, faded tattoo. “Looks like the number four, doesn’t it?”

Harry heard alarms going off in his head almost immediately and dread crept over him like an icy chill just as the door swung open and Andrew hurried back into the morgue. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking pale and embarrassed. “I don’t know what came over...” He trailed off, looking from Harry to Cosette and back again. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I know why no ones looking for this guy,” Harry breathed. 

Cosette turned to Andrew, and explained, “Prisoners of Azkaban usually have their identification number tattooed on their neck.”

Andrew still didn’t seem to be following, so Harry added, “I think this man’s a Death Eater.”

* * *

_Her father was dead_.

How was it possible that she’d lost him on the 5th of February 2006 when she’d passed out barely a week ago and it had been 1998?

 _Her friends were dead_.

Lupin, Tonks, Fred...oh, Merlin, Fred.

How was it possible that she couldn’t remember mourning people who meant so much to her or attending their funerals?

 _The War was over_.

How was it possible that the War had been won for nearly a decade and she couldn’t remember the moment Voldemort had finally fallen?

 _She had a son_.

How was it possible to raise a child for seven years and not remember a single thing about him?

 _Bellatrix Lestrange was her fiancée_.

How was it possible to be engaged to Bellatrix fucking Lestrange - the woman who’d haunted her nightmares ever since she’d tried to murder her and her friends in the Department of Mysteries, the woman who’d tortured poor Neville’s parents until they’d lost their minds, the woman who’d laughed with childish glee as she carved into her flesh like a holiday ham - and not fucking remember? 

The more she thought about it all, the more she felt like Alice. 

Only she wasn’t in Wonderland.

She was in fucking Hell. 

Hermione half expected to pass out and wake up again on the floor in Malfoy Manor and find that this was all a dream. 

Yet, despite the fact that her life seemed to have gone from slightly weird to I-fell-down-the-rabbit hole surreal over the last twenty-four hours, a small part of her knew she had to acknowledge the truth of it all because, well, the proof was piled on the table at the bottom of her bed. 

Next to the Order of Service from her fathers’ funeral and a pile of photographs her mother had brought for her that Hermione refused to look at, was a pile of old _Daily Prophet_ ’s Harry had left for her that morning. Her mother had spent the morning reading them to her: specific editions and cut-outs describing the events that had transpired after Voldemort’s downfall as well as other notable affairs from the last eight years. There was also a handful of newspapers from various towns and cities up and down the county featuring articles about the recent Death Eater attacks that the Muggles had put down to gas explosions and other catastrophic accidents.

And now, numb with grief and confusion, Hermione barely registered the questions Healer Callaghan was asking her. 

Did she know what day it was? Did she remember hitting her head? Did she remember what she was doing in Diagon Alley before the attacks? Did she remember what year it was?

“1998?” Sheila asked. “Are you sure, love?”

 _Not really, no_ , she wanted to say, but because she was using denial as a bit of a shock absorber, she huffed instead, “Yes, Sheila. As sure as the other fifty times you’ve asked me.”

“Right. Well, you see, it’s actually 2006.”

Hermione grumbled, “So you keep saying.”

“You don’t remember the millennium, darling?” her mother asked. “We went to Edinburgh for the new year and watched the fireworks.”

 _Please, just stop_.

Hermione sighed, and mumbled, “I’ve never been to Edinburgh, Mum.”

The only fireworks she remembered were the Wildfire Whiz-Bangs that Fred and George set off as part of their rebellion against Dolores Umbridge two years ago. 

“Can you tell me how many children you have?” Sheila tried. 

Hermione’s head was starting to throb with the incessant questions, but she managed to grind out, “I don’t have any children, Sheila.”

Hermione could see her mother shake her head sadly out of he corner of her eye.

“We’ll try again later, hm?” Sheila suggested, giving her a sympathetic smile as she made to leave. “Don’t worry, love. You’re doing well.”

Hermione didn’t feel like she was doing well. When Sheila left she reached up and touched her temple. There was nothing there of course; not a dressing, not a bruise, not a cut. A few drops of Dittany had instantly closed the wound when she’d first been admitted to hospital, her broken rib had been mended with a quick Episkey charm, and all the superficial little cuts and bruises had been treated with various pastes and healing charms. 

The damage inside, well...that was a different matter. 

Physically, she looked fine, but mentally, she felt broken. 

Tentatively, Jennifer touched her arm, and asked, “Do you want to look at those photos now?”

Sighing, Hermione nodded.

* * *

An hour later and Hermione was still in a state of shock.

She couldn’t stop staring at the photographs, even the ones with...with _her_ in them.

The pain she felt in the centre of her chest was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before and if she could liken it to anything, it would be the feeling of what she imagined a bludger right to the heart might feel like. 

There were photos of days at the beach, warm summer afternoons in the garden, family dinners, birthday parties. Photos of a tangled haired Cygnus and an equally sleep mussed Bellatrix buried under mountains of colourful wrapping paper and toys at Christmas. Photos of Cygnus eating watermelon, building a snowman, sleeping on a couch, curled up on her father’s knee as they read a book together. 

There were also pictures of her and Bellatrix, the both of them always looking a little close in Hermione’s opinion. Muggle photos where they were both grinning too much for the gesture to possibly look forced, and Wizard photos where they were laughing and playing with Cygnus and, bloody hell, was that Bellatrix’s hand around her waist? 

There was one particular picture of the both of them that she kept going back to - Bellatrix laughing at something off to the side, and Hermione scowling at her with an infuriated look on her face. It frightened her somewhat, to know that she had made that face at Bellatrix Lestrange and the dark witch hadn’t tortured her for it. 

It was hard to take in, but the more photographs she looked at, the harder it was to convince herself that it wasn’t real. 

She was engaged - to Bellatrix Lestrange of all people. They shared a home. They shared a son. They shared a life. Hermione thought that something like that would’ve been permanently engraved in her mind, amnesia or not. 

Yet...nothing. 

She picked up the nearest photo of Cygnus; he was wearing a knitted grey hat and swaddled in what looked like her old Gryffindor scarf as he trudged towards her though knee-deep snow. And, Merlin, how she wanted the memory of that day back so badly. She stared at him and for a second she thought she heard the faint sound of a child laughing, the feeling of a cold nose pressed to her cheek, but as soon as she tried to grab hold of it, it slipped away. 

“It’s completely bizarre, Mum. I feel like...like I’m in a dream.” She brushed her thumb over Cygnus’ face, blushed pink from the cold. She didn’t think she’d felt more terrified in her entire life. “Do I really have a...is he really mine?”

Jennifer took the photograph and smiled fondly at it for a moment. Her lip quivered with a barely perceptible tremor, then her amber eyes flickered back to Hermione again, and she said, “Yes, he is.”

Hermione closed her eyes briefly and took a deep, shaky breath. “I’ wish I could...remember.”

She heard her mother take a deep breath herself. “Darling, the Healers said it’ll hopefully only be temporary. I’m sure with some rest and—“

“What’s he like? My-my son?”

Jennifer smiled softly, and murmured, “He’s wonderful, Hermione.”

“Am I...a good mum?”

“You’re a brilliant mother. Cygnus is, well, he’s your life...” Jennifer trailed off and looked like she was going to say something else, then seemed to think better of it, then huffed and obviously decided just to spit it out. “Cygnus and Bella are your life.”

“And, um, B-Bellatrix...what’s she like?” Hermione finally asked, tearing her eyes away from the pile of photographs in her lap. 

Jennifer’s face lit up and she smiled warmly at her. “She’s wonderful, too. Really she is.”

“Right.” Hermione shook her head, incredulous, and flicked her eyes back down to the photographs. She couldn’t get her head around it. “So, she’s not a - a Death Eater?”

Jennifer reached out and grasped Hermione’s hand, squeezing tightly. “No.”

“And you’re sure she hasn’t, I don’t know, used the Imperious curse on everyone so she can have her wicked way with me?”

Jennifer laughed a little and rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what an Imperious curse is, but I can assure you, you’ve never minded her having her wicked way with you.”

Hermione’s eyes popped and she felt her face flame, exclaiming, “Oh my god, Mum!”

“And from what you’ve told me, the sex is good too,” Jennifer winked at her. 

“Bloody hell, stop! Since when do you ever talk about this sort of thing?”

“Since you became a woman, dearest.”

Hermione looked away, mortified beyond belief. But that was another thing she’d clearly forgotten. 

She was in a relationship with Bellatrix Lestrange. 

A woman. 

As far as she could recall, her sexual experience was next to nothing. Sticky fumbles with Ron in a tent in the middle of the forest while it was Harry’s turn on watch. They had never even went the whole way back then and she didn’t even know if they had.

“Look, Hermione,” Jennifer said, her tone much more gentle. “Nobodies saying you have to jump into bed with her or anything. But she’s been worried sick about you and wants to see you.”

“I...” Hermione hesitated and wrapped her arms around herself, feeling small and pathetic. 

The photos spoke of familiarity but the lack of recognition of Bellatrix and Cygnus’ place in her life terrified her. How could she have forgotten she’d been in a relationship with Bellatrix Lestrange for nearly a decade? How could she have forgotten her child? Jennifer was looking at her, her face full of hope and anticipation, and Hermione’s heart ached because she really didn’t know what to say to her. She wasn’t sure when, or even if, she’d be ready to see Bellatrix, but she wanted to see Cygnus, more than anything she wanted to see her son.

Her beautiful, blue-eyed, curly haired seven-year-old son.

Jennifer looked like she was about to prompt her for an answer, but Sheila breezed back into the room, and asked, “How’re you feeling, love?”

Hermione shook her head, at a loss.

Part of her wanted to scream with pure terror at the situation she found herself in, and part of her wanted to roar with laughter at the ridiculousness of it all. 

“It’s 2006,” she finally said, voice catching slightly on the inappropriate giggle that caught in the back of her throat. 

“Hermione?” Jennifer asked, a modicum of concern lacing her tone. 

And quite suddenly, Hermione found herself laughing so hard. She couldn’t stop. Her breath came in quick gasps between unstoppable giggles.

“My son is seven and it’s 2006!”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates might come a little slower from now on due to work and Uni commitments, but every spare min I have I’ll be working on this for y’all!! 
> 
> I own nothing. All mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

_”I hate everything!” Bellatrix announced loudly as she stepped out of the Floo into their bedroom. She kicked her heels across the carpet and launched her bag onto the bed in a fit of temper. “Today has been the clusterfuck to end all clusterfucks!”_

_“Welcome home, love,” Hermione said, quickly crossing the bedroom to cup her witch’s face between her hands and silence her tirade with a gentle kiss before it escalated into a full-blown meltdown. Almost immediately she felt the tightness in Bellatrix’s shoulders loosen. “Relax, you’re so tense.”_

_“You would be too if you’d had the day I’ve had,” Bellatrix grumbled as she slid her arms around Hermione’s waist, pulling her close. She dropped her head against Hermione’s shoulder, muttering curses into her neck. “I’ve missed you.”_

_“I’ve missed—” Hermione began, then jumped a little when she felt firm fingers kneading her backside. “Excuse me, Madam Black. Are you - are you massaging my arse?”_

_Bellatrix laughed a little into Hermione’s neck, and groaned, “I’m stressed.”_

_“I can tell, but my arse is not a stress ball.” Hermione reached back, lacing her fingers with Bellatrix’s. “Come, I have something that’ll help.”_

_“That bottle of Ogden’s my sister got us for Christmas last year?”_

_“Nope.” Hermione walked backwards and tugged Bellatrix towards the en suite. “Something much better.”_

_Bellatrix cocked a brow. “What can be better than whisky?”_

_“You’ll see.”_

_“Oh,” Bellatrix winked at her, red lips curling into a salacious half smirk. “You gonna seduce me?”_

_“We’ve been together eight years. I hardly need to seduce you.” Hermione pulled her into the bathroom where candles had already been lit and the bath had been filled with scented bubbles. “Although, for the record, I’m not opposed to seducing you. But, after the day you’ve had, I think a nice hot bath is in order.”_

_Bellatrix took in the bathroom and gave Hermione a tender look, “Oh, love. This looks divine.”_

_“Don’t say I’m not good to you.”_

_Bellatrix quickly shrugged out of her work robes and Hermione snagged them before she could drop them in a heap on the floor. Her lover undressed quickly and before Hermione even had a chance to neatly fold everything on the counter, Bellatrix sank under the water up to her chin, and moaned. “Circe’s tits, this is nice.”_

_Hermione perched on the toilet seat and smiled. “Better?”_

_Bellatrix just moaned again, arms resting along the edge of the bathtub, and Hermione tried to pretend that the sound didn’t just send a spike of arousal straight down her spine._

_“I’m staying in this bath forever,” Bellatrix murmured._

_Hermione rolled her eyes. “Should I leave you and the bathtub alone, darling? Give you two some private time?”_

_“Mm, no.” Bellatrix held out her hand. “Get in. There’s room for three in this relationship.”_

_“Oh, are you sure?” Hermione asked coyly, even as she started to strip. “I’d hate to come between you two.”_

_“Shut up and get in,” Bellatrix said, smiling wolfishly. Her dark eyes glimmered with desire as Hermione undressed slowly. “It’s non-negotiable, really.”_

_“Well, far be it from me to disappoint.” Hermione dropped her knickers and kicked them aside despite huffing moments ago at her lover’s untidiness. She deliberately put a bit of sway in her hips as she sauntered towards the bath, just to see Bellatrix’s eyes darken. “Budge up.”_

_There was a bit of jostling and rearranging, but Hermione finally slid in behind Bellatrix and pulled the dark witch back against her chest. The bath itself was big enough for at least another two people, but over the years they had found this to be their favourite position. Their legs tangled together and Bellatrix rested her head back against Hermione’s shoulder. Hermione rested one arm around the rim of the bath, lacing their fingers together, and slid the other through the water to coil around Bellatrix’s belly._

_“Mm, this is nice,” Bellatrix sighed. “You always know just what I need.”_

_Hermione pressed a kiss to the long column of Bellatrix’s neck and hummed against her skin. “Harry gave me a heads up. He Floo’d earlier to say you were stomping around in a filthy temper. He thought you were going to throttle someone.” She chuckled and nibbled at Bellatrix’s ear. “I think he was quite worried for the rest of his staff. It’s not every day people see that angry side of you anymore.”_

_“You would be angry too if you had to deal with the new Auror recruits all day. No a single one of them have an iota of common sense.”_

_“Oh, love,” Hermione giggled._

_“Honestly, bunch of absolute numpties,” Bellatrix grumbled. “It’s a wonder any of them even had the NEWT scores to sign up in the first place.”_

_“They’ve barely started their training,” Hermione tried to reason. “I’m sure under your guidance they’ll become fine Aurors.”_

_“I’m glad you think so. There was this one idiot who couldn’t even conjure a simple Protego. I lost the will to live after the tenth time I knocked him on his arse, and he stood up, high fived his mate, and said, ‘Bellatrix Black just Stupefied me, this is the best day ever.’”_

_“He did not!”_

_Bellatrix shot her an accusing look and pouted. “Would I lie to you?”_

_“Um, yes,” Hermione scoffed._

_“Lies and slander.”_

_Hermione just rolled her eyes and curled her hand tighter around Bellatrix’s belly, peppering her witch’s face and neck with hot open-mouthed kisses._

_“Anyway, enough about that.” She cupped Bellatrix’s breast, teased her thumb around her nipple. “Let me take care of you.”_

_Bellatrix exhaled a pleased sigh as she reached back and curled her hand around Hermione’s neck. They both leaned in at the same time to slant their mouths together as Hermione slid the hand resting on Bellatrix’s stomach lower to spread her open._

_Bellatrix groaned into Hermione’s mouth, “Darling, you’re killing me.”_

_“What a way to go though,” Hermione husked, voice low in the thick, balmy air._

Hermione couldn’t remember what she’d been dreaming about, but she just knew that she felt happy as it faded away into nothingness. The first thing she became aware of as she began to rouse from her heavy slumber was the quiet murmur of voices and the sweet fragment smell of something fresh and woody. 

She couldn’t make out what the voices were saying through the sleep-induced fog in her brain, but she recognised her mother’s soft, sweet tone, and instantly relaxed. 

She hoped the other person her mother was talking to wasn’t Sheila. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Healer Callaghan, but the near hourly repertoire of repetitive questions was starting to grate on her nerves. Even after her inappropriate laughing fit several hours before when she’d basically acknowledged that what was happening to her _was_ actually happening, the questions remained the same. 

“When did she fall asleep?” the other person asked. 

It was a woman’s voice; a low, educated drawl with an agreeable trace of huskiness that sounded only vaguely familiar.

Definitely not Sheila then. Hermione would’ve recognised the woman’s soft Northern Irish burr anywhere. 

“A few hours ago,” her mother replied, sounding tired. 

Hermione kept her eyes closed. She wasn’t eavesdropping, she told herself, it was her room after all. 

“How has she been today?”

“A little better. She even had some dinner.”

“That’s good.”

“I don’t think she was too keen on the menu though,” Jennifer chuckled. 

_Ugh, no_ , Hermione thought. 

The plate of fish and chips that had been delivered to her room at dinner time had been disappointing to say the least. The cod was so dry it tasted like it had been reheated several times and the chips were soggy and limp. The pudding was nice though. Strawberry trifle was a favourite of hers. 

The other person hummed, laughing softly, “Yes, the food here doesn’t fare much better than Muggle hospitals. Or so I’ve been told.”

“Not to worry,” Jennifer reassured. “When we get her home you can make her that famous Shepherd’s pie of yours and—“

“I don’t know if taking her home is such a good idea, Jennifer.”

“Oh, don’t be daft, Bella, where else is she going to go?”

 _Bella_! 

Hermione suddenly felt cold to her guts. What the bloody hell was she doing here?

“I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable. We can’t expect her to just—“

“But Bella,” her mother implored. “You heard Healer Pratt, he said the best thing for Hermione was for her to live her normal life.”

Bellatrix sighed, grumbling, “Easy for him to say, bloody fool. Hermione thinks I’m a psycho who mutilated her.”

“Well, technically you did, but—“ Jennifer started. 

Hermione could hear the anger rise in Bellatrix’s voice and was fearful for her mother’s safety as she growled, “That wasn’t me! I am _not_ that person anymore, Jennifer!”

“I know, love. I know. I just meant...well, I think it’ll be a good idea to set the record straight before she comes home, hm?”

“I won’t force her,” Bellatrix said, softer this time, but Hermione could still hear the edge of anger in her tone. “Ask her in the morning where she’d prefer to stay.”

The rustle of fabric and the scrape of a chair leg on the hard floor met Hermione’s ears. 

_Oh, good. She’s leaving_.

A note of surprise in her tone, Jennifer asked, “You’re not leaving already are you?”

“I shouldn’t linger,” Bellatrix said quietly. 

She almost sounded...sad. 

If Hermione hadn’t felt so paralysed by Bellatrix’s nearness, she would’ve laughed. Would the raving lunatic she remembered from the War display her more tender emotions so openly?

“Don’t be daft,” her mother said. “Sit back down and I’ll ask one of those Healer people to bring us some tea.”

“I need to get back—“

“Sit!”

Hermione nearly choked, struggling to keep her eyes closed and her breathing even. Did her mother actually just speak that way to Bellatrix Lestrange? She didn’t think it was possible for anyone to speak that way to the dark witch, because surely the punishment would be nothing short of a death sentence. 

“Fine,” Bellatrix conceded with a sigh. 

“Do you not move from that chair,” Jennifer ordered. “I’ll see about some tea, hm?”

“Yes, mother,” Bellatrix replied sarcastically, but even without looking Hermione could hear the smile in her voice. 

Her mother’s retreating footsteps echoed in her ears, and then she was gone, leaving her alone with the woman who’d tried to kill her. Almost immediately Hermione felt like she was being watched, and tried to keep her breathing slow and even in an effort not to betray her wakefulness. 

“What is it with you Granger women?” Bellatrix grumbled, absently. “So bloody bossy.”

 _Oi_! Hermione thought, and before she was even completely aware of what she was doing, she cracked open an eye, and blurted, “We’re not bossy! We’re just aggressively helpful!”

Hermione stiffened at her own blunder as dread crept down her spine like a careful spider leaving a trail of silk. But she would be lying if she said the look of wide-eyed panic on the other witch’s face didn’t surprise her. Surely this wasn’t the same Bellatrix? Her dark eyes were much too soft, much too kind. The Bellatrix she remembered would never look at anyone like that - especially not her, especially not a Mudblood. 

That thought aroused a spark of curiosity and endless questions but Hermione fought to shake them off. She wanted to believe that this woman was still here to harm her, yet her traitorous mind reminded her of the photographs she’d seen earlier and the conversation she’d overheard between this woman and her mother mere minutes ago.

Slowly, Bellatrix raised her palms, and said, “Please don’t scream.”

Hermione wasn’t sure if she could scream even if she wanted to. Adrenaline surged through her veins so fast that she felt about ready to vomit, but her brain willed her to run, to grab her wand from the drawer and curse this woman into oblivion. But instead, she lay frozen on the bed, because realistically, she knew that she didn’t have a hope in Hell of doing either of those things. In all her years as a witch, Hermione had never seen anyone as fast on the cast as Bellatrix!

She could taste it in the back of her mouth, the bile that surged up her throat, and she quickly pushed herself into a sitting position. Bellatrix lurched out of her chair and before Hermione even had a chance to blink or push her away or...anything, really, the dark witch was holding a glass to her lips and urging her to drink.

“It’s alright, darling,” Bellatrix said, rubbing soothing circles onto her back. “Here, have some water.”

Odd perhaps, but rather than panic even more at Bellatrix’s closeness, she couldn’t help but think how good she smelled as the woody scent of the dark witch’s perfume washed over her. So Hermione drank, taking small sips and deep breaths until the nausea passed. When she was finished, she flopped back against her pillows and closed her eyes. 

“Better?” Bellatrix asked tentatively. 

For a moment Hermione debated with herself. Did she really want to strike up a conversation with this woman? Then she felt Bellatrix brush the backs of her fingers down her cheek and her eyes snapped open again. 

She dared a glance at the dark witch as she returned to her chair. It was strange, the Bellatrix she remembered was nothing like the one sitting next to her now. 

The witch who’d tortured her had a pale skull like face, rotten brown teeth and dead sunken eyes. The witch who haunted her dreams, who killed Sirius, had wild knotted hair and sharp talon like fingers. 

But this witch, this woman who she’d been in a relationship with for nearly a decade, this woman she shared a son with, this woman who had apparently been worried sick about her, despite looking haggard and hesitant...was beautiful. 

Inky black curls were pulled away from her face into a messy knot. Her elegant, arched eyebrows were drawn together in a worried frown, and soulful brown eyes shone with just the faintest glimmer of unease. 

“Y-yes,” she shuddered, exhaling the breath she didn’t even realise she’d been holding in a shaky whoosh. 

“How’re you feeling, dove?”

“Confused.” Hermione sincerely hoped she didn’t sound as nervous as she felt. “A-and scared.” 

“You don’t need to be scared of me,” the dark witch reassured her. 

Hermione muttered, “I find that hard to believe.”

“Understandable. The last time you remember seeing me I was less than my best.”

Hermione scoffed, she couldn’t help it, and a heavy silence settled over them, thicker than the uneasy tension in the atmosphere.

“I can leave if you like?” Bellatrix said, finally. Her expression was perfectly neutral. “I didn’t think you’d be awake.”

“Oh.”

“Honestly, I won’t be offended if you ask me to go.” Bellatrix gestured to the duffle bag next to the bed. “I only stopped by to drop off some clothes for your discharge tomorrow. You’ll be glad to wear your own clothes again. Those hospital gowns are horrid.”

Hermione turned to look fully at Bellatrix, because now that she mentioned it, the gown definitely was quite uncomfortable. 

“N-no. It’s ok. I mean, we had to meet sooner or later, I suppose.”

“Are you sure? I won’t stay long. I need to collect Cyg soon, but I can keep you company until your mum comes back.”

Hermione’s interest was piqued at the mention of her son, and she asked, “Cygnus?”

“I’ve left him with my mother you see, and he can only tolerate her in small doses.” Bellatrix laughed a little, the sound sending shivers down Hermione’s spine. “She fusses over him something terrible and he’s at that age where he hates being coddled.”

Despite herself, Hermione chuckled softly. “He’s named after your father, right?” For a moment Bellatrix looked hopeful and Hermione’s laughter quickly died. “I mean, I remember...um, the tapestry in Grimmauld Place.”

“Oh. Of course.” Bellatrix sighed in obvious disappointment. “Yes, I named him after dad.”

“So, um, Cygnus’ father is...”

“Rodolphus,” Bellatrix clarified. “My late husband.”

“And he’s—”

“He died in the War.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Hermione winced. Bellatrix half shrugged. “So when did you - how did you - your pregnancy—“

Bellatrix grimaced, but she was smiling a little, “That’s a story for another time.”

“Right. But Rodolphus is dead and - and we—“

“Got together when I was pregnant. Although, I didn’t realise it at the time. Cygnus was a...wonderful yet unexpected surprise.”

Hermione exhaled a ragged breath and dragged a shaking hand through her hair. “And Cygnus thinks I’m his mum?”

“He doesn’t think. You are. You legally adopted him when he was two. I can show you the papers if you’d like.” 

“I - no. It’s fine.” Bloody hell. Cygnus really was hers. “It’s just...a lot to take in, that’s all.”

“But he knows he had a daddy who died and two mothers who love him more than anything.”

“Merlin,” Hermione closed her eyes briefly in and covered her mouth with a shaking fist. 

“He also knows that you bumped your head and that you’re a little forgetful right now.”

“And how’s he taking it?” Hermione asked, concern lacing her tone. “Is he alright?” 

“He’s very perceptive, Hermione, and we keep little from him. He knows you aren’t yourself right now. But he’ll be fine.”

Hermione noticed that Bellatrix’s fists were clenched in a white knuckled grip. She looked like she wanted to say more but Hermione didn’t push the issue. Hopefully, she asked, “Will you let me see him?”

A look of hurt flashed across Bellatrix’s face and her dark browns drew together. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I just thought, well...” She trailed off, inundated with emotions. “It’s just...”

“Just what, love?” Bellatrix leaned forwards in her chair and reached for her. Hermione wasn’t sure if it was instinct or fear that made her flinch away, but Bellatrix noted her hesitation and quickly dropped her hand back into her lap. 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione apologised. 

Bellatrix shook her head. “Don’t be. I’ll try to remember...”

“I’m just not...entirely sure I can trust you.” Hermione shook her head, feeling her cheeks flush. “I have so many questions.”

“What do you want to know?”

“What - what’s the nature of our relationship? I mean, I’ve seen the photos but...” Hermione trailed off and her eyes dropped to her hands, they trembled against her lap. She already knew the answer, of course. But she wondered if it would seem anymore real coming from Bellatrix herself. 

The dark witch gave her a careful look and her tongue darted out to swipe across her bottom lip. Hermione tried not to stare. “We’ve been in a committed romantic relationship for nearly eight years. We share a home and a son,” she told Hermione, gently.

“What are your feelings towards me?” Even before she’d said it Hermione knew it was a cruel question. 

“I love you,” Bellatrix told her, voice catching a little.

Hermione closed her eyes again and took a deep breath. “And my feelings towards you?”

Bellatrix laughed hollowly. “You love me too.”

Hermione was silent for a moment as she worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.

“A lot has changed, Hermione.”

“I just don’t know how...I mean, I’m not - I’m not gay.”

“Is it really so hard to imagine?” Bellatrix asked. “Being with me? Knowing that we have a life together?”

“I—“ Hermione struggled with her words and started to wring her hands. 

“Is it because it’s me or because I’m a woman?” 

“I’m not...I’m not—“

“Gay? Yes, so you said.” Bellatrix sighed heavily and leaned back in her chair, dragged a hand over her eyes. She looked absolutely done in. “You know, this thing between us, we never gave it a label.”

Hermione just looked at her with a wide agonised expression.

“I’m still not sure how to explain what happened,” Bellatrix continued. “When my sister’s found out about us they teased me for weeks. They didn’t know how I couldn’t have known for forty odd years that I was into woman.” She laughed again and this time Hermione found herself mesmerised by the warm, huskiness of her voice. “My husband died, I met you, and...we fell in love. That’s it. There were no labels and there never has been. It is what it is.”

Hermione looked away. The conversation had turned terribly intimate and she was finding it hard to hide her discomfort. 

“Hermione,” Bellatrix said, knowingly. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel uncomfortable. But the Healers are confident your memories will return in time.”

“My last memory of you isn’t a nice one, I’m finding it hard to imagine you having any sort of feelings for me other than murderous ones. Yet you seem so...” _Calm_? _Patient_? _Sane_? “...different.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how you must be feeling, Hermione. But please believe me when I say that this is who I am now,” Bellatrix said, solemnly. She looked so sad. It was more than a little disconcerting to see her emotions so clearly visible. “After the War...you helped me change my way of thinking. And it changed my life.”

“Honestly, I didn’t know how I was going to cope, seeing you again,” Hermione admitted, measuring her words carefully as she toyed with the edge of her blanket. “But I feel strangely...comfortable around you.”

Bellatrix smirked this time. “Given your opinion of me I suppose that’s a bit of a headfuck, hm?” 

Hermione looked at her, and try as she might, she couldn’t help the small smile that curled at the corner of her lips. It was rather amusing how someone with such a syrupy drawl could make profanity sound so...attractive. But she hurried to push the thought away. “That’s probably the understatement of the year.”

“Indeed. I miss you.”

Hermione sucked in a shaky breath, and murmured, “l’m sorry I can’t return the sentiment. Not just now anyway.”

“We’ll figure this out, Hermione. Maybe not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow. But we will.” Bellatrix gazed at her with pleading brown eyes and reached for her again, covered her hand with hers. This time Hermione didn’t pull away. “Come home tomorrow. Please.”

Hermione bit her lip and tentatively, asked, “Would it be weird having me there? In your house?”

“It’s your house too,” Bellatrix reminded her. 

“I suppose,” Hermione breathed, not sure what else to say. Against her better judgement she turned her hand under Bellatrix’s and was surprised to feel a little thrill when the older witch’s fingers laced with hers. “Then I’d like to go, um, home.”

It was probably for the best. Healer Pratt did say she should continue to live as normal. Maybe something would look familiar. 

Before she could stop herself, Hermione asked, “Will you stay for tea? Mum should be back soon.”

Bellatrix lip’s tugged upwards into a blinding white smile and all of Hermione’s anxieties were suddenly whisked away like leaves caught in a gentle breeze.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the Belgian bestie for naming Cyg’s poor tortoise. 
> 
> I own nothing. All mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

**The next day**

Despite being a private ward, the six floor had as much personality as the rest of the hospital. 

The floor was slate grey and the walls dove. The magical globes along the ceiling were much too bright for her eyes, and she found them abrasive, enough perhaps to bring on a migraine. The prints on the walls were cheap and less than tasteful. 

She’d paid top Galleon for this? 

Despite the decor though, she had to admit that most the Healers here had taken very good care of Hermione, and she supposed she should find comfort in that because today was the day her witch was allowed to come home. 

Reaching Hermione’s room, she stopped with her hand on the door when she looked through the window and spotted the dreadful ginger Healer who’d spoken to her and Andromeda when Hermione had first been admitted to hospital. 

“Now, just a few more tests then you’re free to go,” she heard him say, and quickly pushed the door open to step inside. She wanted to hear what this imbecile was saying. 

“Ah, there she is,” Jennifer announced with a smile. “You remember Healer Jardine, don’t you Bella?”

“Unfortunately,” Bellatrix drawled, and dragged her gaze up and down the ginger Healer with no subtlety whatsoever. Then, she turned to Hermione and offered her a small smile. 

Healer Jardine cleared his throat nervously and offered a stuttered, “Um, y-yes, hello again, M-Madam Les— Black! Madam Black!”

“Oh, do shut up.” Bellatrix rolled her eyes impatiently. “What’s the hold up, I thought you were discharging her this morning? It’s nearly eight o’clock at night.”

“Apologies for the delay, Madam Black. We had to wait on her medication to finish brewing, the Potioneers downstairs were backed up and—“

“You’re irritating me,” Bellatrix responded, which was all the encouragement Healer Jardine needed to get on with his tests. 

“Right.” He clasped his hands together and turned back to Hermione, who was sitting in a chair pulling at her fingers. “Now, I know you’re anxious to get home, but will you indulge me just a few quick questions?”

Hermione sighed and nodded. 

“Can you tell me your name?”

“Hermione Jean Granger.”

“And can you tell me where you are and what you’re doing here?” 

“I’m at St. Mungo’s because I hit my head during a Death Eater attack in Diagon Alley.”

“What about the Muggle Prime Minister? Do you know who he is?”

“Um, it was Tony Blair last I—“

“It’s still Tony Blair,” Bellatrix murmured.

“And what day is it?”

“It’s Sunday the 16th of April...2006.”

“Excellent!” Healer Jardine turned to Bellatrix with a wide smile, as if expecting her to be impressed. “I’m just checking that she can still retain information.”

Bellatrix gave him a scathing look, and said, “Wow, jolly good. She still thinks it’s 1998, though.”

Jennifer warned, “Be nice, Bella.”

“No, no,” Hermione quickly turned to the Healer. “I know it’s 2006. I just said so.”

“But she still doesn’t remember anything from the last eight years.” Bellatrix gave Healer Jardine a hard look. “She doesn’t remember her son. Or the end of the War.”

“But she can still remember all the new information she’s been given since she’s woken up,” Healer Jardine insisted. “That’s good.”

Bellatrix shook her head and muttered, “None of this is good.”

“You should start to notice an improvement in a few weeks hopefully.”

Bellatrix cocked a brow. “Hopefully?” 

Healer Jardine just gave Bellatrix a weak smile and said to Hermione, “I hope you feel better soon, Miss Granger. You can do home now. Excuse me.”

“Well then,” Bellatrix said, resting her hands on her hips. “Now that you’re finally allowed to leave, I suppose you’ll need to decide where you want to go.” 

Hermione’s face crumpled in confusion. “I thought we’d decided I’d come, um, home?”

Yes, but that was yesterday after having a ten minute conversation. Bellatrix wanted to make sure that Hermione knew she had options, she wanted her to feel in charge. 

“I know, but I want you to be sure. You can still go to your mother’s if you’d like?”

“I am sure,” Hermione insisted. 

“Alright, love,” Bellatrix relented, slinging Hermione’s duffle bag over her shoulder. “Let’s go.” 

Hermione nodded, looking relieved to finally be leaving. 

“Do you want to Floo? Or we can Side-Along?” Bellatrix could see Jennifer grimace out of her peripheral vision. She knew her mother-in-law wasn’t a fan of either option, and she quashed the urge to roll her eyes, muttering, “Or I could bring the car round?”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up and she turned to Bellatrix with a wide-eyed, incredulous stare. “We have a car?”

“Well, you have a car,” Bellatrix clarified. “But I know how to drive it.”

“You can drive!” Hermione parroted, even more awestruck. 

“My sister taught me in her old Cavalier,” Bellatrix shrugged, then, in an attempt to lighten the mood, she winked at Hermione, and said, “I can show you my handbrake turn if you like?”

“Indeed you will not!” Jennifer slapped her on the arm and shot her a glare cold enough to freeze the pacific. She turned to Hermione, and said, “I think we should walk. We’ll only be twenty minutes and it’s still light out, the fresh air will do you good.”

Bellatrix pulled a face, but she knew better than to argue with her mother-in-law, and sighed, “Let’s go home, love.”

* * *

Home, as it turned out, was a large terraced townhouse in the middle of Islington. 

Lovett Lane was a neat, well-tended Muggle street filled with gorgeous old houses. They were attractive without being ostentatious, and retained many historic features, all white brick and tall sash windows. There was a leafy green park surrounded by a black wrought iron fence on the other side of the road that looked like a nice place to go for a walk. The cars parked up and down the cobbled street were mostly Mercedes and BMW’s, but there was a pale green Volkswagen Beetle further up the street that caught her eye. 

“Here we are,” Bellatrix said, approaching number 18. 

Hermione stared up at the house that she shared with Bellatrix Lestrange. 

She didn’t know why she expected the door to be green and the knocker to be fashioned in the shape of a snake like the one at Grimmauld Place, but she was pleasantly surprised to see that the door was a bright letterbox red and the knocker was just a plain black one. In fact, nothing at all about the house indicated that witches lived inside, and even though the house was nearly identical to all the other houses up and down the narrow street, Hermione couldn’t help but feel like there was just something a little bit more magical about it. 

She was aware of Bellatrix watching her as she took in her surroundings.

“What do you think?” Bellatrix asked, as she discreetly tapped her curved wand to the door handle. “Do you like it?”

“Yes - it’s lovely.”

Bellatrix offered her a small smile, looking pleased, and ushered her inside. 

The interior was nothing like she’d imagined. The hall was white, the floor polished walnut. An ornate chandelier hung from the intricately coved ceiling, and family photographs hung on the wall going up staircase. 

“Were you expecting something dark and tacky like my sister’s place?” Bellatrix asked from behind her. 

Hermione turned to Bellatrix, smiling shyly at her playful tone. “Maybe something more dungeon like,” she said, only half joking. 

Bellatrix chuckled, and the husky sound made an unexpected heat creep up Hermione’s neck as the dark witch hummed, “Sorry to disappoint you, dove.”

The click-clack of nails against the hardwood floor made them all turn and in trotted a little fawn coloured dog. It had a sturdy body, pointy ears, and a round egg shaped head with tiny brown eyes. Hermione’s first thought was that it was the ugliest little thing she’d ever seen, but a feeling of warmth she couldn’t place bloomed in her chest before disappearing again a moment later. 

“We have a dog?” Hermione asked, bending down to pat the dogs head. His mouth opened in a wide smile as his long pink tongue darted out to lick her, his little white tipped tail swishing wildly. He looked rather pleased to see her. 

“Hello, handsome!” Jennifer gushed. “Oh, Hermione, he’s missed you. Look at his face.”

“This is Rex,” Bellatrix told her, giving the dog a dirty look. 

“Weird name for a dog,” Hermione said, without thinking. Bellatrix just looked at her and Hermione had the decency to blush. 

“His Sunday name is Tyrannosaurus Rex,” Bellatrix told her. Hermione’s mouth fell open in a silent _oh_. “But we call him Rex for short.”

“Um, that’s...” Hermione was momentarily speechless, then she found herself laughing. “That’s—“

“Completely ridiculous, I know,” Bellatrix drawled, rolling her eyes. “But Cygnus was four at the time and was going through his dinosaur phase...” Bellatrix trailed off and made a long suffering noise. “I’m just glad he grew out of it before we got the tortoise else I dread to think what he might’ve named the blasted thing. Probably Velocisauraus or some such nonsense.”

“Right.” 

Bellatrix flapped her arms at the dog like she was trying to shoo a flock of geese. “Alright, bugger off! Git!” 

“Um, what is the tortoise’s name?” Hermione asked curiously, as Rex clip-clopped away again, unfazed by Bellatrix’s scowl.

Bellatrix pursed her lips, and said, “Godzilla.”

That set Hermione off again.

“Shall I put the kettle on, ladies?” her mother asked as she hung her coat up. “I think we could do with a nice cuppa, hm?”

 _Oh, tea sounds delightful_ , Hermione thought, pushing to her feet again. “Tea would be great, Mum,” she said. 

Jennifer left, walking down the long hall and disappearing through a door she assumed must’ve been the kitchen. 

Hermione stood awkwardly next to Bellatrix for a few seconds. Even though they’d spent some time alone together at the hospital last night, Hermione felt painfully out of place without her mother there now that she was in Bellatrix’s - their - house. 

“Anything?” the dark witch asked, watching Hermione with a hopeful expression as she looked around the hall. 

Hermione shook her head, and mumbled, “I hoped it would feel...”

“Familiar?”

“Yeah.” Hermione gave her a tight, apologetic smile. 

“I need to Floo my sister, check in on Cygnus,” Bellatrix mumbled, clearly sensing the tension. “Take a wander if you like.”

Then she was gone too, leaving Hermione alone in the middle of the hall. It didn’t take long for curiosity to get the better of her though, and after a few moments of awkward shuffling, she started to nose around. Peeking into the closest door, she found a cosy looking sitting room. 

Whereas the hall was all clean lines and fresh walls, this room was so familiar to her that for a moment she honestly thought she’d stepped into Gryffindor Tower. The walls were all burnt orange and red, the furniture rustic and dark. A sturdy wooden coffee table with steel legs was surrounded by two plush red couches that were scattered with vibrant cushions. They looked so comfy she just wanted to throw herself down on the nearest one and never move. There was even a TV! At least she thought that’s what it was. It looked too flat to be a telly - not like the huge boxy thing her parents had. 

In fact, come to think if it, the lights seemed to be running off electricity as well. Hermione knew as well as any witch that magic made Muggle electronics go boom. 

Next was the water closet with a pristine white toilet, a tiny sink, and a fluffy grey hand towel folded over the rail. _Over or under_? her brain suddenly chimed in, and she pushed the thought away with a frown. Then she found the dining room. Six antique wooden chairs surrounded a vintage French table, but it didn’t look like it was used all that often judging by the clutter that was scattered across it’s surface. Hermione wondered if they ate Christmas dinner here as she walked through the dining room and passed under a large archway to see her mother preparing tea at the double range stove. 

The kitchen was surprisingly modern; the cabinets were white, the countertops an attractive brown granite. The tiles were sombre shades of brown with cream and the palest of turquoise glass, each of them stacked as a pile of books might be by some happily distracted reader. The blue brought memories of clear water on sunny days. 

Her mother bustled around the kitchen with a familiarity that unnerved her a little. It was obvious she’d spent a lot of time here. Quietly, she backed out of the kitchen and hurried back into the hall. The last door was the one that Bellatrix had disappeared through. She slowly pushed it open and peeked into another sitting room. 

This room was warm and neutral; a white corner couch was scattered with yet more cushions in a shade of olive green that matched the drapes that hung from the tall window. Bellatrix stood in front of the large stone fireplace, leaning on the wooden beam mantle as she looked down into cracking green embers. 

“...bring him home tomorrow morning?” an unfamiliar voice said. 

Hermione couldn’t see who Bellatrix was talking to, the back of the couch was obscuring her view of the grate, but it was a woman with, if she wasn’t mistaken, the thickest Yorkshire accent she’d ever heard. 

“That’s fine,” Bellatrix sighed. “Hermione needs time to settle in. I don’t want to overwhelm her.”

“I agree. Too much, too fast might rattle her, eh?”

“Probably.” 

“Oh, Bella, love,” the woman said, voice laced with concern as Bellatrix rubbed at her eyes. “You look dead beat. Get yourself to bed.”

“In a bit. Jen’s making tea.” The woman made a disapproving sort of sound, and Bellatrix scowled, “Don’t look at me like that, Annie. You look like Druella.”

“Perish the thought,” the woman - Annie, her sister? - huffed, indignantly. Then her voice softened. “Listen, I know Hermione needs some TLC right now, but you need to look after yourself too.”

“Tell Cyg I love him,” Bellatrix said, a clear indication that she didn’t want to talk anymore. 

“I will,” Annie promised. “Get some rest, yeah? Hermione’s home now, everything will work out.”

“I hope so.”

And the quiet desperation, the longing in the dark witch’s tone was so painful to listen to, that Hermione found herself hurrying back to the kitchen because she couldn’t bear to hear another word. 

“Oh, darling, there you are,” Jennifer smiled, just as she slid a mug across the kitchen table towards her and gestured for her to sit down. “Are you hungry?”

Hermione shook her head and lifted her mug to her lips, saying, “I don’t think I could eat—“ 

“So I think you should sleep in our bed tonight,” Bellatrix announced, as she strode into the kitchen and slid a chair out from under the table.

Hermione’s mug stilled halfway to her mouth and she gawped at Bellatrix. She felt hot and cold all at once, almost as if her body didn’t know whether to flush in embarrassment or pale in dread. 

“Um, obviously I wouldn’t expect you to...” Bellatrix quickly interjected, obviously seeing the panic on Hermiones face. “I’ll sleep in the spare room.”

“I, um, I’d appreciate that,” Hermione nodded, shoulders sagging in relief. 

“I think it’s a good idea,” Jennifer agreed. “Healer Pratt said we should try and keep everything as normal as possible. And, darling, remember I’m staying for a few nights, so I’ll be here if it gets too much for you.”

Bellatrix offered Hermione what she probably thought was a reassuring smile but appeared as more of a grimace. “It’s settled then,” she murmured, and stared down at her mug. 

Hermione just nodded. She supposed it made sense. If she was going to get her memory back, she would have to jump headfirst into the deep end even though she still felt a little uneasy around Bellatrix.

* * *

After tea and some stilted conversation, Bellatrix led Hermione up two flights of stairs and into a bedroom. 

Their bedroom. 

The thought made Hermione feel slightly nauseous. 

The room was decorated in white and various shades of blue. Bold, black furniture opened up the space and made it look chic and fresh. The bed was huge, bigger than the narrow hospital bed she’d been sleeping on for the last week, and was littered with decorative cushions (what was Bellatrix’s obsession with cushions?) in a shade of yellow that reminded her of a bumblebee. Two tall windows draped in navy velvet and black side tables on either side of the bed gave the room a sense of balance, Hermione found the symmetry appealing, two matching halves that added up to one gorgeous room. 

“Anything?” Bellatrix asked, and Hermione could tell she was trying not to appear too eager. 

“Not really. More a...feeling.” She looked around the room again and tried to ground herself once more. This room, just like the rest of the house, wasn’t familiar to her at all, but she did feel strangely comfortable. 

Her eyes landed on a framed photo of them, kissing in front of Hogwarts. She was in her graduation gown, Bellatrix hands were resting on her waist.

Merlin. They looked so happy.

Bellatrix’s followed Hermione’s line of sight and hastened to pick up the photo frame. “I’m sorry - I was going to put this away.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Hermione said quickly. “I - I don’t mind.”

Bellatrix lowered the photo though she still held it close to her chest. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“Honestly, it’s fine. It - it might help?”

“If you’re sure,” Bellatrix said quietly, replacing the photo on the nightstand. She pointed to one of the dressers. “That’s yours. Night things are in the first drawer.” Then she crossed to the ornate marble fireplace and gestured to a glass box on the mantle. “The Floo powders here.”

“Why are you...” Hermione started, not sure why Bellatrix was telling her this.

“I want you to feel safe,” Bellatrix said. “You can leave at any time. Potter lives at Grimmauld now. And the Floo’s also connected to your mother’s house. Her rooms just across the landing but if you need to get away...”

Hermione felt herself blush a little as Bellatrix pulled some clothes out of her own dresser and summoned a few things from the en suite.

“I’ll be next door,” Bellatrix told her.

“I didn’t mean to put you out,” Hermione bit her lip.

“It’s your bedroom, Hermione.”

“It’s yours too,” Hermione blurted, and her blush deepened. “Isn’t it?”

She hoped Bellatrix didn’t take that as an invitation that she wanted her to stay. Because, honestly, she didn’t know if she’d be able to cope with that. 

“Yes...well.” Bellatrix pressed her lips together. “Hopefully being in a familiar place will help.”

“Yeah,” Hermione agreed, quietly.

Bellatrix opened the door and glanced back over her shoulder. “Goodnight, dove.”

“Goodnight, um, Bellatrix.”

The door closed with a soft snick and Hermione let out the breath she didn’t even realise she’d been holding. She could hear Bellatrix shuffling around next door for a few minutes, then everything went silent. 

The right side of the bed was obviously Bellatrix’s, next to the photograph in the silver frame - that she could barely look at - was a folded pair of black reading glasses. On the left side, there was a book, the bookmark was only a chapter or two in, and her first thought was that it wouldn’t take her long to catch up. She reached for it, reading the blurb. She didn’t recognise it at all, but it was about Nordic runes, so she wasn’t too concerned because she knew she would enjoy it. 

Next, she opened the nightwear drawer that Bellatrix had pointed out and selected a pair of pyjamas without much fuss. In the bathroom she reached for the yellow toothbrush in the glass on the shelf and peeked in a drawer under the sink where she found a hairbrush. 

_See, this is easy_ , she thought. 

Her reflection in the mirror gave her pause though, she shuddered a little when she saw how much older she was compared to her last memory of herself. Her hair was a little shorter than it had been, perhaps a few shades lighter too. Highlights, maybe? Or bleached by the sun on a recent holiday? Her eyes were still the same honeyed brown, but wearier than she ever remembered, and the fine crows feet that hadn’t been there before made her frown. 

Eventually, she left the bathroom and settled on the bed to rest. It was comfortable, the quilt was soft and the mattress was exactly the right firmness, her pyjamas were cosy, and her pillow wasn’t too hard.

It was completely perfect.

Yet, despite her exhaustion, she found it difficult to fall asleep. 

She tried to tell herself it was because she was anxious to properly meet her son in the morning.

But deep down she wondered if she just wasn’t used to sleeping alone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little something (no, really, it’s tiny) to keep you all going while I finish off the next full chapter. 
> 
> I own nothing. All mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

**DEATH EATERS ON THE RIGHT TRACK WITH REHABILITATION PROGRAMME**   
_By Terrence Heeps  
1st June 1998_

Nearly a month after Harry Potter’s triumph over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, newly elected Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, has confirmed that the first uptake of Death Eaters approved for the ‘Right Track’ programme will begin their rehabilitation this week. 

The Minister has stated that the pilot programme, which has been aimed at hand selected Death Eaters, is more about education than punishment. 

“Over the course of the next five months we hope the attitudes of these individuals will change.

“This project has been greeted with great enthusiasm from all parties involved, and I am certain that it will have a positive impact, not only on the individuals who have agreed to take part, but on the Wizarding community as a whole.

“I am hopeful that old blood prejudices will lessen as a result and these witches and wizards will soon be on the road to reintegrating back into the community with the morals and values that we want to rebuild our society with.

“To educate is one thing, but to then go on and change behaviour and extinguish outdated customs is so much more powerful."

The first batch of Death Eaters will be transferred from Azkaban Prison to a newly established rehabilitation facility this week. 

The project is being funded by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing. All mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

Bellatrix stood at the kitchen window and watched the sun rise. 

A canopy of gold, bright amidst the darkness, bid the stars to take their nightly rest. Every colour changed from tinges of charcoal and blue to shades of orange and pink, peach and magenta, amber and rose. A new day, a new beginning. It was mornings like this that made Bellatrix wonder what they gave in return for such gifts of divine magic. 

Coffee in hand, her fingers traced the rim of her mug, steam ghosting over her knuckles. The lingering scent of last nights light drizzle and the spicy aroma of her favourite Italian roast tickled her nose as she sipped in solace. 

She’d barely slept a wink. That was nothing new. Bellatrix hadn’t had a full nights sleep since before Hermione had been admitted to hospital. It didn’t help that Rex had scratched incessantly at the bedroom door for almost an hour before she’d finally given in and let him into the room beside her, and when she did finally manage to find momentary peace, she’d been plagued by nightmares, waking with a start in the early hours to find Rex licking her ear. 

Bellatrix glanced at the dog now. He was lying in his basket by the hearth, gazing at her with a look of concern in his little brown eyes. 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she huffed. “I’m perfectly alright.”

Rex just licked his chops and grinned at her.

She’d always pretended not to like the dog very much, but from the moment Hermione had brought the little bull terrier home, she’d completely fallen in love with his wide smile. It was impossible not to love him, not when he looked so adorably ridiculous with his beady little eyes and squashed quaffle shaped head. 

She watched the sun until the sound of soft, hesitant footsteps met her ears, and she turned away from the window. Hermione stood awkwardly under the arch between the kitchen and the dining room, bundled in flannel pyjamas and the grey fluffy dressing gown Bellatrix had left on the back of the bedroom door for her. 

She looked so out of place that Bellatrix just wanted to wrap her arms around her.

“Coffee?” she quickly asked, sensing Hermione’s unease. 

Hermione smiled, shyly. “Um, please.”

Bellatrix nodded and turned back to the kettle. She tried not to steal glances at Hermione as she prepared her coffee, tried not to watch her witch’s eyes flicker around the kitchen with an inquisitive eye. She wondered if Hermione knew that this room was what had attracted her to the house in the first place. 

Bellatrix summoned Hermione’s favourite mug from the cupboard and poured her coffee, just how she liked it. Milky, one sugar. Then handed the mug to her and watched Hermione smile as her eyes zeroed in on the ‘Best Mum’ logo printed on the side. 

_Thank Merlin for small mercies_ , Bellatrix thought, as she pulled a chair out. Then she asked, “Sleep well?”

“Sort of,” Hermione shrugged. 

Bellatrix almost laughed. Hermione had never been a good liar. So, in an attempt to break the ice, she grinned, “Well, your mother certainly had no problem sleeping. I could hear her snoring through the wall. A mountain troll in labour sprang to mind.”

“You and mum seem to get on well,” Hermione said, eyes crinkled as an amused laugh shook her chest. 

It was the best thing Bellatrix had heard in over a week.

“We do. Very well, in fact. Maybe because we’re of a...similar age...” Bellatrix trailed off and felt the corner of her mouth quirk into a fond smile. “I listen to her complain about anti-wrinkle cream and pelvic floor exercises, and she listens to me complaining about...well, everything. And she’s brilliant with Cygnus. He adores her.”

Hermione’s laughter abruptly died. “Oh, so my...my parents - I didn’t realise they were involved with...“

“When everyone realised things between us were quite serious,” Bellatrix began, choosing her words carefully. “Your parents invited us over for dinner...Cygnus was nearly eight months old and they saw how good you were with him, and they knew you loved him. It didn’t take long for them to fall in love with him either.”

Hermione nodded and exhaled a shaky breath. “I still don’t get it,” she murmured. “This thing between me and you....”

“So,” Bellatrix frowned and tapped her temple. “Even after all the photos, the house, everything...there’s really nothing up there?”

Hermione’s mouth opened but her lip began to tremble before she could say anything, and she hung her head. 

“Oh, love,” Bellatrix murmured. “Give it time, hm?”

Hermione looked at her through dark lashes, amber eyes wide and unguarded. Bellatrix felt her heart ache at the vulnerability there and wanted to reach for her, but she kept her palms firmly wrapped around her mug. She didn’t want to push her luck by appearing overly familiar. Hermione had held her hand at the hospital but Bellatrix had chalked that down to nerves. There had been a few incidences since, when Bellatrix had reached for her without thinking and Hermione had flinched away. They had always communicated through touch, when there were no words for what they were feeling, touch had saved them. But without that now, Bellatrix wasn’t entirely sure what to do. 

“M-maybe...” Hermione began, hesitantly. “Maybe if you could tell me a little bit more about...us. I think it might help me to - to understand?”

Bellatrix stiffened; she’d hoped that Hermione wouldn’t ask that question. Not for a while anyway, maybe not ever. There was a stupid part of her that thought they could carry on as normal without getting into the nitty-gritty parts of their relationship. 

She blew out a breath, and chuckled wryly, “Where do I bloody start?”

“Maybe you could tell me what happened to you after the War?” Hermione suggested. “I mean, you’re here so - why are you not...you were a Death Eater, shouldn’t you be—“

“In Azkaban?” 

Hermione’s mouth snapped shut and she quickly ducked her head to hide her blush. 

Bellatrix’s heart sank. 

She didn’t like talking about the months following the end of the War. She’d been at her lowest point back then; miserable, pitiful, angry. Lost mostly because she’d lost a big part of herself. Hermione didnt remember any of that of course. But if she had any hope of kickstarting some of Hermione’s missing memories, she supposed she would have to delve back into the past. 

With a heavy sigh, Bellatrix raked a hand through her hair, and asked, “The old _Prophet_ ’s Potter left for you, did he include any articles about Phoenix House?”

Hermione’s brow creased in confusion, “Um...”

Bellatrix sighed again and pinched her forehead in irritation, silently cursing Harry because now she’d have to explain it all. 

“I was part of a group of Death Eaters who defected before the end of the War,” she told Hermione, gazing into her near empty mug. “And...”

Hermione eagerly promoted, “And?” 

Bellatrix pushed away from the table and crossed to the kettle, “And we’ll need more coffee for this conversation.”

* * *

_26th May 1998_

_“Absolutely not! I refuse! Not a Niffler’s chance up a dragon’s arse!”_

_Bellatrix Black formerly Lestrange stood flushed and rigid with fury in the middle of the tiny Ministry holding cell she’d called home for the three weeks and stared down the two men standing in the doorway with fire in her eyes._

_“Now, Madam Lestrange,” Kingsley tried, taking a few steps further into the cell only to flinch back again when Bellatrix lunged for him._

_“Don’t you Madam Lestrange me!” Bellatrix screeched, feeling her carotids pulse and bulge in her throat as she strained against the shackles restraining her. “For the thousandth time, my husband is dead! I’m back to Black!”_

_“My apologies, Madam Black,” Kingsley said._

_“Look, Bellatrix,” Harry interjected. “Kingsley and I have worked very hard to get you this deal. There’s a lot of people who want you thrown back in prison despite your contribution to—“_

_“TAKE ME BACK THEN!” Bellatrix shrieked. She thrust out her hands, still blistered and raw after her Fiendfyre rampage during the Battle of Hogwarts. “You’d think after I took out half a fucking army on my own the Ministry would be a little more grateful!”_

_Kingsley took a few steps forward again, and the look of genuine confusion on his face made Bellatrix want to claw his face off. “Forgive me, Madam Black, but you seem a little annoyed—“_

_“Annoyed? Oh, no, Minister,” Bellatrix spat, nostrils flaring. “First Class passengers on the Titanic were annoyed! What I'm feeling now goes way beyond that!”_

_Harry tried, “We’re offering you a lifeline—“_

_“I DON’T NEED NOR DO I WANT THE MINISTRY’S FUCKING CHARITY!”_

_“Enough of this!” a woman’s voice barked, and Bellatrix stiffened when her sister pushed through the two men and stormed towards her._

_Bellatrix dropped her hands to her sides and squared her shoulders, piercing the slightly taller witch with her darkest glare. Andromeda glared too, but she wasn’t staring at Bellatrix, she was staring at Potter and the Minister._

_“Why haven’t her hands been tended to?” the younger Black sister demanded._

_“She refused treatment, Andy,” Harry insisted. “She threw a hissy fit whenever the Mediwitch went anywhere near her.”_

_“Well, get these chains off her, they’re aggravating the burns,” she snapped, and almost instantly the manacles unlocked from around Bellatrix’s wrists and fell to the ground with a heavy clunk. “Minister, Harry, if I may have a few moments alone with my sister.”_

_Both men left without a backwards glance._

_“Silly cow, why didn’t you let the Mediwitch treat you?” Andromeda huffed once they were alone. “Some of these burns are turning septic. It’s a wonder you don’t have blood poisoning.”_

_“Because I refuse to let anyone touch me with their filthy Mudblood hands,” Bellatrix snarled._

_“Didn’t this war teach you anything?” Andromeda sighed, shaking her head in irritation as she lifted one of Bellatrix’s hands to examine the blistered skin further._

_“It’s taught me that Wizarding Britain is full of thankless cunts.”_

_Obviously losing patience, Andromeda snapped, “You’re acting like a child!”_

_Face set in mutinous lines, Bellatrix stuck out her bottom lip in an unhappy pout. If she was acting like a child she didn’t care._

_“Look,” Andromeda went on, softer this time as she drew her wand and traced patterns over Bellatrix’s raw skin. “I think you should take the Minister up on his offer. You’d be mad not to.”_

_Bellatrix eyelids fluttered, feeling instant relief as a cool, soothing sensation ghosted over her still scorching skin. “Well, being mad is what I’m known for,” she murmured._

_“For once in your damn life, will you just listen?” Andromeda produced some Muggle cigarettes from somewhere inside her robes and held the packet out. “Here.”_

_Bellatrix snatched a cigarette and clenched it between her teeth so Andromeda could light it with the end of her wand. She wasn’t daft, she knew Andromeda’s offer of a cigarette was a ploy to shut her up, but fuck was it working. That first deep hit of nicotine practically made her legs buckle and she sank down onto her tiny cot like a slowly deflating balloon._

_“It won’t be that bad, Bella,” Andromeda insisted, plonking down on the cot next to her so she could continue to treat her hands. “You survived Azkaban for fourteen years, so—“_

_“Barely,” Bellatrix muttered._

_“—surely you can survive five months in rehab?”_

_Bellatrix’s lip curled, the entire notion filled her with disgust._

_“You won’t be alone,” Andromeda went on. “Travers and Rookwood have agreed to do it too, and that Macmillan bloke you’re chummy with.”_

_Bellatrix felt her brows shoot up and she stared at her sister in surprise. “Alec?”_

_Andromeda shrugged, and continued, “You’ll have your own room, three meals a day, and weekends to yourself. Weekdays you’ll do the assigned work and have group therapy sessions.”_

_“Oh, that sounds lovely,” Bellatrix sneered, dryer than dry. “It’ll be like being in school again, only this time I’m on the wrong side of forty and instead of Slughorn in Potions I’ll be stuck with some Ministry stiff who wants to teach us about how wonderful the Mudbloods are.”_

_“See,” Andromeda smiled sweetly. “You sound like you’re warming to the idea already. I’m sure you’ll have the best of fun.”_

_Bellatrix tipped her head back against the wall and took another deep drag on her cigarette._

_Five months in rehab or a day/a week/a month/a year/a lifetime in Azkaban?_

_Despite her reluctance, logically Bellatrix knew she had no choice but to agree to rehabilitation, and the emotions she felt because of that went beyond fury and took her someplace far darker. She felt like she’d been deliberately put into a situation where she’d be forced into the Ministry’s debt, owing her life and her freedom to the very people who’d locked her back up after everything she’d did for them during the War._

_“People are grateful, Bella,” Andromeda said softly, almost as if she’d read Bellatrix’s mind. “There hasn’t been a day since Voldemort’s downfall that I haven’t heard someone talk about how Bellatrix Lestrange set the world on fire.”_

_“Quite literally,” Bellatrix murmured. She looked down at her hands, wondered if they’d scar. “And it’s Black.”_

_“And just so you know, it was Hermione Granger who fought for your inclusion in this rehab programme.”_

_Bellatrix blinked, struggling with that information for a few moments. Hermione Granger, the Mudblood girl she’d...well, it was difficult to meet that memory head on as it was coloured with the haze of an enchantment that the Dark Lord had used to manipulate her into doing his bidding, but she could still vaguely recall the sensation of the girl’s sharp hipbones digging into her thighs and the point of a knife piercing soft flesh._

_The feel of Andromeda’s hand squeezing her knee dragged her from her reverie and she looked at her sister, noting the emotion shining clearly in her soft brown eyes. If it were anyone else, Bellatrix would’ve looked away. She detested direct eye contact. But she felt herself drawn in closer, craving a connection._

_“We’re ok, you and me,” Andromeda whispered, and hearing the words she didn’t know she needed to hear, Bellatrix knew what she needed to do._

_“Madam Black?” Kingsley’s deep voice suddenly rumbled through the tiny cell, and Bellatrix realised that they weren’t alone anymore. “Have you made a decision?”_

_“Just so we’re clear, if I do your silly rehab thing, I’ll be spared prison?”_

_Kingsley merely nodded._

_“Fine. Sign me up.”_

_“Excellent,” Kingsley nodded, and almost at once a scroll of parchment appeared in midair with a pop, unrolling itself in front of Bellatrix. “Here are the terms of your rehab, if you’d like to take a few moment to read—“_

_“I just want to sign!” Bellatrix snapped, patience wearing thin. “Do you have a quill? Or would you prefer blood?”_

_“Inks fine,” Kingsley told her, and with another pop a quill appeared next to the enchanted contract. Bellatrix snatched it out of thin air and signed with a flourish, marvelling at how her maiden name came so easily to her after signing everything as Lestrange for nearly thirty years. The moment she lifted the quill from the parchment, both disappeared._

_“How soon can I leave?” she asked, scowling. “I couldn’t possibly stay in this shit hole a minute longer.”_

_“You’ll be escorted to Phoenix House in the next few days along with the other parolees,” Kingsley explained._

_Bellatrix snorted derisively. “What the fuck is Phoenix House?”_

_“Your new digs,” Harry grinned._

* * *

Hermione was speechless for a long time, every part of her looked on pause while her brain caught up. Bellatrix wanted to laugh, it wasn’t very often that Hermione didn’t have much to say. 

“I hope that’s answered a few of your questions,” she said slowly, waiting for Hermione to respond. 

“If anything, I have more,” Hermione finally murmured. “So, you went to rehab? What made you do it? What happened - why did you switch sides?”

“We didn’t switch sides,” Bellatrix told her. “We were on our own side.”

“But why—“

“The truth is,” Bellatrix sighed. “I haven’t been a Death Eater since before the end of the first Wizarding War.”

Fine lines of struggled understanding creased Hermione’s beautiful face, and she murmured, “Oh?”

“One moment...” Bellatrix trailed off, suddenly feeling like her heart was fighting with her lungs for space. She knew she’d have to tread lightly here. More for her own sake than Hermione’s this time. “Sometimes, just one moment can change everything. My husband and I...suffered a great loss. The Dark - Tom Riddle stole something very precious from us.”

Tentatively, Hermione asked, “What did he—“

“I’m really trying to be as forthcoming as possible, but all the questions you’re so desperate to have answered are ones that we’ve discussed in the past.”

“O-oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you - it’s just...”

Bellatrix’s dark eyes flickered to Hermione’s concerned amber ones, then she looked away again just as quick. “Please understand that some topics...are difficult for me to talk about. We gave so much of ourselves to his cause and he threw our loyalty back in our faces in the worst possible way. That one moment made us take a step back and question what it was we were really fighting for. So we left.”

“You just...left?” Hermione frowned. 

“Well, not right away,” Bellatrix chuckled wryly. “It wasn’t quite as simple as that. But we were in a position to make things difficult for Riddle, so we did.” 

“How so?”

“We sent anonymous tip-off’s to Dumbledore. Times, dates; locations where attacks were scheduled to take place.” Bellatrix gazed blindly into the bottom of her mug. “The Order was a bit iffy at first, Mad-Eye especially. But once they realised the alerts weren’t a ploy to snare Aurors, they were always one step ahead of Riddle’s plans. They say sabotage is a crucial tool of the successful coup d’etat.”

“You were planning to rebel?” Hermione gasped. “Didn’t the other Death Eaters suspect anything?” 

“Honestly, most of them were too stupid to even tie their own shoe laces. But there were a handful savvy enough to know what was going on and it wasn’t long before we had a nice little band of turncoats.” 

“What happened next?”

“Potter happened.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “O-oh?”

“Looking back, it was probably a good thing Riddle got himself blown up that night in Godric’s Hollow. I knew he had a handful of shiny baubles he favoured, but at the time I didn’t know they were Horcrux’s. Even with two dozen allies, we wouldn’t have stood a chance against him if we’d rebelled.” 

“Do you think you still would’ve had a chance even if his soul had been intact?” Hermione asked. 

“I’ll choose not to be offended by that question, little bird,” Bellatrix smirked, finally looking up. Hermione blushed again. “Make no mistake, Tom Riddle was an exceptional wizard. But without his Horcrux’s as collateral, he was just a man. And like most men I’ve had the displeasure of knowing, his head was so far up his own arse he thought he was invincible.”

Hermione looked dumbfounded. “I—”

Whatever Hermione had been about to say was interrupted by the loud whoosh of the Floo from the dining room and she visibly startled, jumping to her feet in alarm. 

“Is Mum here?” a voice cried, followed by the sound of little feet pounding towards the kitchen.

“Oh!” Hermione gasped, and raked her hand through her hair a few times in nervous anticipation. “He’s here!”

Bellatrix huffed a soft laugh and quickly rounded the table to grab Hermione by the shoulders, fearing her witch’s legs might buckle at any moment. 

“We’ll continue this discussion later,” Bellatrix grinned against her ear. “Come and meet our boy.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 12 is baby Cyg and dialogue heavy, but all relevant for later chapters ;) 
> 
> I own nothing. All mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

“Mum?” Cygnus skidded into the kitchen in his pyjamas and flung his arms around her waist, his dark head colliding hard with her stomach. “Mum! You’re back!”

Hermione stood rooted to the spot. She couldn’t speak, didn’t know what to say to him. She really wasn’t ready to make another person who was close to her sad. In the end, all she could do was wrap her arms around this child who seemed to know and love her...but was utterly unfamiliar to her, and when he looked up at her, she felt her breath leave her lungs in a whoosh. 

He was so beautiful. 

His dark tangle of lustrous curls had a sheen like fine hardwood, and his smooth skin was dusted with pale freckles. His exhilarated smile was broad enough to reveal the gap of a recently lost tooth and one dimple in his left cheek.

And his eyes, oh Merlin, his eyes. 

They were the ocean; fathoms deep and fringed with long, dark lashes. 

Hermione felt dizzy and wobbled a little. 

“Let’s give Mum some space, hm?” Bellatrix said, firmly but gently, and reached around Hermione to carefully pry Cygnus away. 

Cygnus pulled away a little, but still clung to her arm, and gave her a critical once over. “Is your sore head better? Mum said you hit it really hard.”

“I - I’m alright, it’s just...” Hermione trailed off, nearly doing a double take when a dark haired witch hurried into the kitchen.

“Cyg, I told you to wait,” she lightly scolded in the same broad Yorkshire accent Hermione recognised from last night. “Sorry, girls. I know it’s still early. Little bugger has no patience.”

“Mm, wonder who he gets that from,” Bellatrix drawled.

The witch grinned and brushed soot off her jumper. “Well, they say men are what their mothers made them.”

Hermione barely heard the exchange. 

“Look, Aunt Drommie!” Cygnus beamed, his little face glowing with elation. “Mum’s home!”

“Hermione, this is Annie,” Bellatrix told her. “My sister.”

Hermione stared. 

Andromeda Tonks was standing in front of her. 

Andromeda was Annie. 

Annie was Andromeda. 

Hermione couldn’t recall ever having met the woman, but she remembered Harry telling her that he’d easily mistaken her for Bellatrix when he’d crash landed at the Tonks’ residence with Hagrid during the flight from Little Whinging. 

And it wasn’t hard to see why.

They both had the same elegant arch to their eyebrows, the same high cheekbones and strong jaw, they even shared the same straight, sloping nose. Her hair was lighter and straighter than Bellatrix’s; a warm mahogany brown, yet with the subtle hues only time could bring. Her eyes shone like an old copper penny, but there was something else there too, something glistening. A gentle, almost familiar sort of warmth that immediately made Hermione feel at ease. 

She smiled tentatively at the older witch, and said, “Nice to meet you.”

“Hello, love,” Andromeda said, and her soft lips stretched into a fond smile. “How’re you feeling?”

“Um...a little better.”

“That’s good. Any luck with the...” Andromeda started, but quickly trailed off when Hermione noted Bellatrix’s subtle head shake at the corner of her eye. “Ah, well, never mind. I’m sure it’ll come, eh?”

Hermione ducked her head, and murmured, “I hope so.”

“Are you staying for coffee?” Bellatrix asked, jerking her chin at the kettle. 

“I’d love to, but Cissy asked if I’d go to the hospital and—“

“Oh, oh! Draco had his baby!” Cygnus exclaimed excitedly, practically doing a tap dance of delight. “Aunt Cissy said she was a bag of nerves! Isn’t that right, Aunt Drommie?” 

“Excuse me, Master Black.” Bellatrix crossed her arms and gave Cygnus a thoroughly unamused look. “Have you been eavesdropping on grown-up conversations again?”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping!” Cygnus insisted, and looked up at Hermione with an expression of wide-eyed innocence. He tugged on her arm. “Honest, Mum, I wasn’t. We were thirsty last night, so we tiptoed downstairs and heard Aunt Drommie speaking to Aunt Cissy on the Floo, so we listened when we were drinking our juice!”

Andromeda cocked a brow, but she was smiling. “Who’s we?”

“Me and Little Ted!”

Bellatrix tutted, “Yes, that’s called eavesdropping, you little earwig.”

Andromeda rolled her eyes, but didn’t look at all surprised. “Astoria went into labour last night,” she explained. “She had a little boy this morning. Scorpius Hyperion.”

“Oh, lovely!” Bellatrix’s annoyance melted into a broad smile. “Another nephew. I bet Draco’s thrilled. Shame about the name, though.” Then she fixed Cygnus with a stern glare, and warned, “Don’t you dare repeat that.”

He stuck his fingers in his ears and shook his head. 

“Look, I better go,” Andromeda said, and pulled Hermione into a quick side hug. “I’m sure you three have some catching up to do, hm?”

Hermione stiffened a little, it was her base reaction of course, because Andromeda was pretty much a stranger to her. But the embrace didn’t feel as awkward as she thought it would’ve been, and she patted the older witch’s back. 

“Thank you for watching Cygnus last night,” she murmured quietly, and for a moment, she actually felt like a mother. 

“No worries, love.” Andromeda smiled softly. “We’ll get a brew and a gab when you’re feeling a bit better, yeah?”

Hermione nodded, “Ok.”

“Cyg, look after Mum, I’m going to see Aunt Drommie out,” Bellatrix said as Andromeda pulled Cygnus into a tight hug and playfully showered his cheeks with loud, exaggerated kisses.

Hermione would’ve laughed at Cygnus’ wide-eyed look of disgust as he tried (and failed) to jerk away from his aunt, but Hermione felt too rattled to do so. It had barely gone eight and already she felt like her head was bursting with the unknown. She was tired after her restless sleep but the looping conversations she was having with herself in her head were so loud it was damn near impossible to switch them off. She didn’t think she’d ever thought so much in her whole life. 

Tugging at her dressing gown sleeve, Cygnus looked up at her with a face full of worry, and quietly asked, “Mum? Are you alright?”

Hermione blinked out of her reverie, realising they were alone, and looked down at him. She didn’t know what to say. What could she say? She reminded herself that even though Bellatrix had told her at the hospital that they kept little from Cygnus, he was still only seven. 

“I’m - I’m fine, Cygnus.” Hermione blew out a breath and hesitated for only a moment before reaching out and grasping his little hand with hers, guided him over to the table. “I’m just...I’m having a bit of a hard time remembering some things.”

Cygnus sat down and considered her for a long moment. “Mum said you forgot about us.”

“That’s right,” Hermione admitted sadly, and she felt like her heart had been pierced by ice when Cygnus looked down at the table, blue eyes darkening with hurt and confusion.

“But you’re not doing it on purpose?”

“Of course not.” Hermione squeezed his hand. “If I could choose to remember people, you and Bell—ah, your mum would be right at the top of the list.”

“Did you forget because of your am...your ammo...” Hermione gave him an encouraging look and when his face screwed up in concentration, she was nearly floored by just how much he looked like Bellatrix in that moment. “Because of your amnesia?”

Hermione was impressed and nodded, smiling a little. “That’s right.”

Cygnus’ eyes widened. “So you don’t know that my birthday is twelfth December?”

 _I do now_ , Hermione thought sadly, but said, “Of course I do. How could I forget the day you were born?”

Had she even been there the day he was born? She still didn’t know anything about his birth beyond the fact that Bellatrix said he’d been a surprise, but before she could think too much on it, Cygnus smiled, and the precious little dimple in his cheek crinkled. Hermione stared, feeling a sudden spear of love so powerful it physically hurt her chest. 

And just like that, a memory dropped into her head.

 _Tiny fingers curling around her pinky. Tiny toes peeking out from under a bright yellow blanket. Tiny lips pursed in an adorable pout and one tiny, little dimple_. 

She looked at Cygnus, and murmured, “You were wrapped in a blanket. You were so tiny.”

“My yellow baby blanket?” Cygnus asked. “Mum keeps it in a box in her wardrobe.”

Her heart sped up a little. If she remembered the blanket, then surely she could navigate her way back to his birth. The realisation that she’d lost eight years of not only her life, but of her child’s life suddenly came crashing down around her. And she wanted to know more about him. Everything. Anything that could maybe help her claw her way forwards through the last eight years.

Hermione suggested, “Why don’t you tell me some things about you?”

“Like what?”

“You could tell me some of your favourite things?”

“Well,” he said, clearly giving it some thought. “My favourite colour is yellow, and my favourite animal is a dragon, and my favourite game is Monopoly, but Mum doesn’t like that game ‘cause she always storms away in a huff when she loses.”

Hermione laughed.

“My favourite friend is Teddy ‘cause he likes Spider-Man the same as me, and he’s my favourite cousin too, and my favourite cake is birthday cake.”

“I like birthday cake too,” Hermione smiled, and then her daughter-of-dentists instinct kicked in, and she added, “But not too much because it’s bad for your teeth.”

“It’s bad for my diabetes too,” Cygnus nodded thoughtfully.

Hermione stilled. 

_His...his what_?

* * *

Hermione watched, transfixed as Cygnus fiddled with the little black device in front of him. 

“So...he needs to wash his hands before every test?” Hermione murmured, in somewhat of a daze. 

Bellatrix nodded. “That’s right, else whatever’s on his hands might give a false reading,” she explained. “One time, his test was through the roof, and we called Annie in a panic. But he was completely fine and when we realised he’d eaten an orange earlier in the day, Annie told him to wash his hands and test again, and his reading was normal.”

“Aunt Drommie used to work at the hospital,” Cygnus informed her helpfully. “She knows everything about Diabetes.”

“Right,” Hermione breathed. “Wash hands before testing.”

The last thing Hermione had expected Cygnus to tell her was that he was diabetic. 

Type 1 to be exact, and Hermione’s mind had been completely blown, because while she’d heard of the disease, she’d been embarrassed to admit that she didn’t know that there was more than one type. In fact, she didn’t really known anything about it, and after Bellatrix had returned from seeing Andromeda off, and noted the pale expression of shock on her face, the dark witch had topped up her coffee and spent the next thirty minutes explaining blood tests and injections, and insulin to carbohydrate ratios, and the difference between hypoglycaemia and hyperglycaemia. 

Watching Cygnus now, she was finding it hard to think clearly. 

“I won’t lie, the responsibility can be demanding,” Bellatrix admitted softly, and reached out to thread her fingers through Cygnus’ unruly hair. He let her (for about five seconds) before shrugging away. “But we get there, don’t we, poppet?”

Cygnus nodded absently, his dark brows furrowed in concentration. 

Hermione felt herself wincing a little when he pressed the spring-loaded lancing device to the side of his finger, and drew a drop of blood. 

_Merlin’s bollocks, his little fingers_ , Hermione thought in both sympathy and fascination as he pressed the little red droplet welling on his fingertip to the test strip sticking out of the meter. After a few moments, the device gave a little blip, and some numbers flared up on the screen. 

“6.5,” Cygnus announced, looking up and beaming. 

Hermione looked at Bellatrix. “Is that good?”

“That’s perfect,” Bellatrix told her, pleased. “Anything between five and seven is just perfect.”

She made a mental note and nodded. “Oh. Good.” 

“Can I have toast for breakfast?” Cygnus asked. 

“Of course,” Bellatrix nodded, and Cygnus pulled out another device that looked like a fancy pen. 

Bellatrix offered, “Do you want me to do it for you?”

“I can do it,” he insisted and popped off the cap on the pen. 

“Alright.” Bellatrix glanced at Hermione, and said, “Poppet, why don’t you explain to Mum exactly what you’re doing. I think it’ll help with her memory.”

Cygnus nodded and for the next few minutes Hermione listened as he carefully explained the process of putting a fresh needle onto the pen, dialling up a few units, and pressing the plunger to expel an ‘air shot’ of the liquid inside the pen to make sure it was firing properly. He was very knowledgeable and Bellatrix only commented once or twice, obviously wanting Cygnus to do most of the talking. 

“The stuff inside is called insulin,” he told her seriously, holding up his pen. “It keeps me alive and makes me feel better.” 

Then Hermione just about had a faint when he wordlessly lifted up his pyjama top and plunged the needle into his belly. 

“We used to do his injections for him,” Bellatrix said softly, clearly seeing the look of horror cross her face. “But you’re a pro now, aren’t you, Cyg?”

Cygnus looked at Hermione and grinned a gap-toothed grin. “Yup!”

“You’re very brave,” Hermione commented softly. “Well done.”

Cygnus shrugged as if it was nothing and disposed of the needle on the end of his pen when he was finished. 

“I don’t want you to worry about any of this right now,” Bellatrix reassured her. “Cygnus can usually manage everything perfectly fine on his own and there’s plenty of people to help if he needs it.”

“But...” 

“No buts, we’ll have a proper discussion about this another day. Right now I just want you to concentrate on you.” 

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, it didn’t sit right with her that her son had a serious medical condition, and she didn’t have the first clue what to do in an emergency. But Bellatrix gave her a look that brooked no argument, and her mouth snapped shut again. 

“Now,” the dark witch said to Cygnus. “What would you like to do today?” 

Cygnus chewed at his lip thoughtfully as he packed away his kit, before asking, “How many days until I go back to school?”

“You still have a week left, don’t worry. Granny’s upstairs, you know? If you ask her nicely maybe she’ll do something fun with you when she wakes up, hm?”

Cygnus’ eyes went wide, and he gasped, “Granny’s here?”

His smile grew in impish delight, the kind that felt like the icing on cakes and splashing in the sea. There was something about the way his whole face lit up in excitement at the mention of her mother that made Hermione’s heart swell and tears prick the corners of her eyes. She hurried to blink them away, but she knew by the way Bellatrix subtly squeezed her knee under the table that she hadn’t been quick enough. 

Bellatrix told Cygnus, “Granny’s staying for a few days until Mum feels a bit better.” Then the dark witch’s eyes found hers, steady and encouraging. “Isn’t that right?”

Hermione nodded and gave Cygnus her brightest smile. 

“Yes!” Cygnus pumped his fist in the air and knelt on his chair so he could lean over the table. “Can we go bowling? Mum loves bowling, don’t you?” He looked at Hermione expectantly. “I beat you last time. Remember? Remember I beat you? But you can be in my team this time and Granny can be in Mum’s team and—“

“I think maybe it should just be a Cyg and Granny day today,” Bellatrix quickly said, and Cygnus’ face fell in obvious disappointment. “The Healers said Mum needs to rest, so I think she should stay home for a few days until she feels better, hm? I’ll stay and keep her company.”

“O-oh. Okay.” Cygnus frowned slightly and looked at Hermione with anxious eyes. “But if I go bowling with Granny...you’ll be here when I come home, right? You’re not going to the hospital again?”

“Of course not,” Hermione gently reassured him. “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t need to worry about me, I’ll have Bell— I’ll have your mother here to help me.”

She felt a little uncertain of herself as she said it, trying to put on a brave front for this little boy who called her Mum. She caught Bellatrix’s eye, who hid her subtle nod of approval behind her coffee mug, and Hermione felt a little triumphant that she had said the right thing. 

“Or maybe...” Cygnus hesitated. 

Bellatrix gave him an encouraging look. “Maybe what, poppet?” 

“Could we have a pyjama day and watch cartoons instead? So you and Mum can join in too?” Cygnus quietly asked. He held eye contact with Bellatrix for a long moment before looking away. “You always say it’s nice to include others.”

“Of course, darling, you’re absolutely right. I think a pyjama day is a splendid idea.” He absolutely beamed at that and Bellatrix gave him a little nudge. “Why don’t you wake Granny and I’ll sort us all out with some toast?”

Cygnus’ face lit up and he launched himself off of his chair, his dressing gown whipping around him as he raced away. Her eyes lingered on him, wondering how something as simple as her own child was a complete muddle in her head. When she was alone with Bellatrix once more, Hermione picked up her mug, sipped it absently even though it had long gone cold. 

“Everything alright?” 

Hermione looked up to see the concerned frown on Bellatrix’s face. “I - yes, it’s just...he’s wonderful.”

Bellatrix preened a little as she crossed to the counter and slotted bread into the toaster. “He is, isn’t he?” she said proudly. “But don’t be fooled by those angelic curls, he’s a feisty little thing when he wants to be. Unfortunately he seems to have inherited my rotten temper.”

Hermione smiled, albeit a little sadly, and dropped her gaze to stare at her hands (and the diamond engagement ring she’d tried hard not to acknowledge for the last few days). “I just can’t believe I’ve forgotten everything about him.”

Bellatrix leaned her hip against the counter and gave her a sympathetic look. “It’ll come, love. One day at a time, hm?”

“Actually, I think I remembered something. Earlier, I mean. When you were seeing Andromeda out.”

“Oh?”

“A yellow blanket.”

“Cyg’s baby blanket?” Bellatrix asked, smiling wistfully. “It wasn’t always a blanket. Annie transfigured one of your t-shirts. He came so suddenly, we didn’t even have anything to wrap him up in. He was a surprise.”

“Yes, you mentioned...” Hermione trailed off. She glanced at Bellatrix, then looked away again quickly when their eyes briefly met. “You never did tell me—“ 

“It was a difficult birth,” Bellatrix told her. “I didn’t even know I was pregnant.” 

“When did you find out?”

Bellatrix snorted a laugh. “When Annie told me my back pain was contractions.”

Hermione’s eyes widened at that. “What?”

“Annie said it was rare. A cryptic pregnancy or some such nonsense.” Bellatrix sighed, and folded her arms across her chest. Hermione tried not to look at how the gesture pushed Bellatrix’s breasts together. “I had no symptoms, no sickness.”

“Nothing?” Hermione gasped, horrified and intrigued in equal measures. 

“Nothing. He was positioned in the back, you see, towards my spine. So I barely even had a bump.”

“That must’ve been a shock.”

“Too bloody right. I was in labour for hours. There were complications because I was...” An annoyed look flashed across her face before her mouth twisted into a rueful smile. “...older.”

“Sounds like you had a terrible time,” Hermione said, at a loss for what else to say. 

“I’ve taken Crucio’s that felt like a tickle compared to that labour. The whole ordeal was horrific,” Bellatrix went on. Then she gave Hermione a fond look. “But you were a little trooper the whole time. Even when I was screaming obscenities at you and I cut off the blood circulation in your hand.”

“I _was_ there,” Hermione murmured, more to herself than Bellatrix, and her eyes began to blur. She blinked, and tears dripped from her lashes, sliding down her cheeks while the magnitude of her loss swept over her. What kind of mother couldn’t remember the birth of her only child? What kind of mother couldn’t even remember her child full stop? 

“Oh, dove,” Bellatrix murmured, clearly sensing her sorrow. 

Hermione had more questions, things she absolutely needed to know, but she abandoned the idea when her mother made an appearance, clad in a frilly robe and slippers. Cygnus was balanced on her hip like a koala, chattering excitedly about their plans for the day. 

“Oh, ladies, you look how I feel,” Jennifer teased by way of greeting. 

“You better feel bloody fantastic then,” Bellatrix retorted playfully. “And put him down this instant before you pop a hip, Jennifer, you’re too old to be carrying him around like that.” 

Bellatrix was right, Cygnus was probably too big to be carried like that now, but Hermione got the distinct impression that her mother spoiled him. 

“If you can do it I can,” Jennifer laughed, but gently deposited Cygnus on his feet anyway and accepted the steaming mug Bellatrix pressed into her hand with a grateful smile. 

Full of cheek, Cygnus asked, “Isn’t Granny younger than you, Mum?”

“Oi!” Bellatrix’s lip curled and her arm shot out, but Cygnus ducked away before she could clip him around the ear. “Cheeky bugger, make yourself useful and butter toast. “

Despite her angst ridden morning, Hermione was fairly amused by the banter at the breakfast table. She wondered if their mornings were usually spent like this. She hoped so, because it was something she could see herself getting used to. 

How odd it was to see the dark witch who’d once tried to kill her laugh and joke so openly with her mother, their camaraderie and playful needling reassuring to see. There was nothing threatening about her, nothing at all. She was an easy listener, a good audience, and had been forthcoming with every question Hermione had asked her. 

And Cygnus was just...he was everything she’d hoped for and more, the seed of everything good to come. She could see the mighty goodness within him that branched out into everything he said and did, and she could’ve burst with pride knowing she’d played a hand in making him that way. 

She watched him now as her mother and Bellatrix exchanged playful quips about ageing and wrinkles. He spread butter carefully over the toast as if he were decorating an elaborate cake. There was a joy in how he did it, evident by his subtle smile and focused gaze, every movement slow and precise in a bid to reach every corner. And when he finally brought the pyramid of golden, buttery toast to the table, Hermione felt something akin to hope blooming in her chest. 

Because for the first time ever, Hermione could see every day of her future, and she wanted it. 

She wanted to stay and be a part of this more than anything she’d ever wanted before.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning something else for this chapter but I decided to take it in a different direction, I think after 12 chapters of angst some light-hearted flirting was in order. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos and comments so far, I might not reply to all of you but I have noticed and I am so happy you’re all enjoying the ride. 
> 
> I own nothing. All mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

**Later that day**

Hermione felt completely and utterly exhausted. 

It was barely six o’clock, but after such a mentally draining start to her day, and a heavy dinner (Cygnus had insisted on Italian - which she quickly realised meant takeaway pizza), she’d excused herself to lie down. 

But despite her quiet, lazy day with her family, the conversation she’d had with Bellatrix that morning had left her feeling raw and vulnerable, and before she could even think about settling down for an hour or so, she needed to speak to Harry. 

It felt like forever and a day had passed since she’d last spoken to Harry, and she felt like she needed his guidance more than anything. Everyone was being very patient with her, but right now she just needed some straight answers, and she knew she could always count on Harry to be brutally honest when she needed him to be.

Harry’s messy head popped up in the grate almost as soon as she’d called him. 

“Hey, ‘Mione,” he beamed. “How’s the head?”

“A little better,” she smiled. “Are you free for a chat?”

“Sure, Ginny’s just finishing up with James’ dinner,” he told her. Hermione laughed, surreal humour derived from the knowledge that she wasn’t the only one with a son now. “How’s your first day back home been?”

“It’s been good. Quiet. We’ve been watching telly all day.”

“Oh?” Harry waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Any canoodling?”

Hermione snorted. “No. Cygnus was with us. And my mum.”

To her embarrassment, Harry laughed, and suggested, “You should give Bella a little kiss. That might bring back some memories.”

Hermione stiffened, feeling her stomach drop.

“Everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine. I think.” She took a deep breath. “Could you explain something to me?”

“Anything.”

“Bellatrix.”

Harry laughed again, and Hermione bristled as a wave of irritation crept down her spine. 

“It’s not funny, Harry. This whole thing is...weird.” She shook her head, confused. “When the hell did this become my life?”

Harry’s light-hearted laughter died abruptly, a frown on his face. “It’s not so bad, is it?”

She thought back on her day so far. After breakfast, they’d settled in the room with the tv and the cushion strewn red couches - the Gryffindor room as she thought of it. Cygnus had declared that since pyjama day had been his idea, it was only fair that he picked the movie, and after a ten minute debate over a stack of children’s DVD’s, he’d finally settled on _Shrek_. Hermione couldn’t recall if she’d watched it before, but it had been enjoyable enough, and full of hilarious double entendres that thankfully soared over Cygnus’ head and made the rest of them laugh. 

The best part of her day had happened after lunch when they’d been halfway through their third film and Cygnus, who’d been perched between her and Bellatrix on the couch, had sunk heavily against her side, and she’d dared to comb her fingers through his tangle of messy curls. 

Surprisingly, he’d let her. 

“No,” she finally sighed. “That’s the thing Harry. It’s not bad at all, just...strange. The Bellatrix I remember is nothing like the one I know now. I mean, we’re supposed to be in a relationship - I don’t know.”

“You don’t know about Bella?” Harry suddenly sounded concerned; back to being the sweet friend she needed to talk to.

“Well, I mean...I think I could see myself liking her like that but...“

Since discovering the true extent of her relationship with Bellatrix, the knowledge that she’d obviously been...physical with the dark witch sat firm in her mind, and she didn’t know how to feel about it. 

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

“It’s just so far from what I know. And I’m...I’m not even gay. I’ve never even thought about another woman like that before. I mean, have we...do we—“

“Do the sweaty, sticky stuff?”

“Harry!” Hermione nearly choked on her own tongue. 

Harry grinned. “What do you want me to call it?”

“Anything but that!”

“Honestly, Hermione. It’s no secret that you and Bella, you know... _do it_ ,” Harry laughed. “Bloody hell, you’re not exactly shy about it.”

Hermione felt the colour in her cheeks fade a little, because for the first time since she’d woken up in the hospital and found out about her father’s death, she felt sad. The wave of emotion that washed over was so intense it brought tears to her eyes. Why were some things coming back so effortlessly and yet this one thing - this one significant piece of her heart that contained Bellatrix - seemed blocked from her? Was this what her subconscious wanted? To forget her? Or was it just a cruel twist of fate that the first real relationship she’d ever had would completely disappear because of a bump to the head?

“‘Mione, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Harry said softly, switching gears back to the sympathetic friend she needed.

“I’m trying not to be,” she sniffed, scrubbing at her eyes with her sleeve. “I just don’t know how I can be intimate with someone I barely know.”

“Look, nobody expects you to jump into bed with her,” Harry said. “Instead of focussing so hard on your sexuality crisis, why don’t you just get to know her like you would anyone else and take it from there?”

Despite the absolute wretched feeling that had settled in her chest, Hermione sniffed a laugh through her tears. “Sexuality crisis?”

“Yeah,” Harry laughed too. “We’ve already had this conversation. Years ago. And believe me when I tell you that you’re definitely into woman, more specifically, you’re into Bellatrix.” Then he gave her a serious look. “But don’t feel pressured into trying to get back to what you were, I mean, you haven’t even been home a whole day yet. Just...concentrate on getting better and try to enjoy your time with her.”

Hermione considered his words for a long moment. Getting to know Bellatrix seemed like the best thing to do right now. At dinner, they’d discussed going for a walk with Cygnus and Rex tomorrow. She certainly wanted to try and remember everything about their relationship, but one thought kept nagging her.

“Do I really love her, Harry?”

Harry’s eyes softened. “More than anything. You’re completely mad for her.”

Hermione was quiet for a moment, letting his words sink in. It didn’t matter how many times she heard it, anytime she thought about her relationship with Bellatrix, she felt like she’d been hit in the gut with a bludger. 

“What...” she hesitated. “What if I never remember how to love her the way I did?”

“You’ll find new ways to love her.”

Hermione bit her lip, and whispered, “What if I can’t even do that? What if...what if I never feel that way about her again?”

Harry looked away and didn’t say anything. 

Another tear slid down her cheek and she wiped it away forcefully. The implication hit her hard, that if she couldn’t find it in herself to love Bellatrix the way she had only just a week ago then she didn’t know if she could live in a loveless relationship. She felt touched - even emotional - as she thought about Bellatrix’s dedication to her over the last couple of days, but she was uncomfortable at the same time, because she couldn’t quite return the affection.

“Look,” Harry said. “Just enjoy the rest of your evening and stop trying to be who you think you should be.” He looked about ready to laugh, but grinned widely instead. “Bellatrix is a lot more patient than she used to be, and if I know her, I know she’ll wait for you. It’ll take time, but I’m sure your memories will come back. Bella isn’t someone you can easily forget.”

When did Harry become so sensible? She knew he was right though; going about her normal routine and letting nature take hold was the best way to get her memories back. If she thought about it too hard, things started slipping, but if she just allowed her mind to rest, little details would hopefully start coming back to her until she could build a bigger picture. 

And then suddenly, as if her subconscious had just plucked it from thin air, a memory of her mother giving her and Bellatrix matching mugs for Mother’s Day flashed through her mind, vivid as if she was holding her Best Mum mug in her hands right at that very moment. 

_That wasn’t so hard was it, Hermione_?

“I love you, Harry. You know that right?”

“‘Mione, everyone loves me,” he grinned. Hermione snorted. “I promise you, all the things that seem shocking to you now aren’t really all that bad. When you get your memories back you’ll have a good laugh about all this.”

There was a pause as she thought about her nice house, and Cygnus, and all the ways Bellatrix had gone out of her way to make her feel comfortable and safe since she’d come home from the hospital. As far as she could tell, her life had taken a wonderful turn after the War. 

There were, she decided, definitely worse things in the world than being in a relationship with Bellatrix Lestrange.

“I hope so.”

* * *

She stood at the back door, feeling refreshed and well rested after her nap. 

The previously blue sky was now streaked a brilliant pomegranate pink as the last of the suns warm limbs were prised from the rooftops of Islington. Hints of green lingered on the horizon, hinting at the bluish grey of the forthcoming night sky. The stone beneath her feet still retaining the day’s heat and the air was rich with the perfume of flowers. She’d never properly looked at the garden until now. It was sort of binary - the areas that were neat were very, very neat and the areas that were wild were very, very wild. She liked it that way, the two extremes right next to one another, enhancing one another. She could appreciate each all the more for their wonderful proximity.

It took Hermione a few moments to notice Bellatrix sitting at the little iron table near the back of the garden, it took her even longer to decipher what was different about her appearance; then she realised that the dark witch had let down her hair. 

Inky black curls fell about a face so pale as to be striking, creating soft shadows under her cheekbones. As she leaned forward to grasp the almost empty wine glass on the table, her hair moved with her, hiding her face until she straightened and flicked it back over her shoulder again. Her loose hair gave her a wild look; a soul untamed. 

Hermione quite liked that. 

She liked it a lot, actually. 

And quite suddenly, Hermione felt her cheeks flush hot and her heart pound in her throat, threatening to break out.

“Are you just going to stand there all night?”

Hermione felt her whole body jerk in surprise, and she stammered, “S-sorry. I was miles away.”

“That much was obvious,” Bellatrix smirked. She nudged an empty chair away from the table with her foot. “Care to join me?”

Silently, Hermione crossed the garden and sat down in the offered chair. 

“Wine?” Bellatrix asked, jerking her chin at the expensive looking bottle of wine between them.

“No thanks,” Hermione shook her head. “I was wondering if we could talk?”

“Oh, sounds serious,” Bellatrix said with a silly smile. 

Hermione cleared her throat, and said, “It’s later—“

“Later?” Bellatrix repeated, putting emphasis on the L and letting it roll off her tongue.

Hermione blinked. Was Bellatrix...drunk? “Our discussion this morning. You said we could continue it later.”

“Ah, yes. You can’t seem to get enough of me, can you?”

Hermione felt a blush began to creep up her neck again. The dark witch’s tone sounded more than a little suggestive, and she glanced at Bellatrix’s now empty wine glass. “Have you had a lot to drink?” she asked, a little surprised by her provocative teasing. 

Bellatrix gave her a look of wide-eyed innocence (now Hermione knew where Cygnus got it from), and she said, “Only two glasses.”

“Ah, so it only takes two glasses to get the great Bellatrix Lestrange blotto, does it?”

“Two glasses is all I need,” Bellatrix winked. “This stuff could knock a Hungarian Horntail on its arse.” Then she leaned across the table, a wicked smile curling her lips as she purred, “And it’s Black, love.”

“I’ll take your word for it...”

“Go on, have a glass,” Bellatrix said again, eyes full of playful allure as her tongue darted out to swipe across her wine stained bottom lip.

Hermione shook her head. “Thank you, really. But I don’t think I should. I only got out the hospital last night and—“

“Bollocks,” Bellatrix scoffed, and summoned a glass from the kitchen anyway. “One won’t hurt. You wouldn’t leave me to drink alone, would you?”

“Apparently I’m too late for that.”

The softly humming wireless on the sill crackled almost imperceptibly as a glass drifted out of the open window and landed with a soft clink on the table between them. 

Curiously, Hermione asked, “Can I ask a question?”

“So many questions,” Bellatrix tutted playfully, sloshing a generous amount of wine into their glasses. “Oh, I suppose so.”

“I noticed there’s a lot of electricals in the house and—“

“And toasters usually go boom when exposed to magic?” Bellatrix smirked. 

Hermione laughed, accepting the glass Bellatrix slid across the table towards her, “Well, not just toasters, but...yeah.”

“The odd Accio doesn’t seem to have much of an effect, but anything more powerful than a Scourgify is a definite no-no.” Bellatrix swirled the wine in her glass and chuckled softly as if she’d remembered something funny. “We lost a few telly’s before we figured that one out.”

Hermione smiled broadly, imagining an abundance of exploding televisions. 

“From the very start we agreed that Cygnus should grow up in the same world his Muggleborn mother did,” Bellatrix went on in a much more serious tone, and she gave Hermione a significant look. “After the War a lot of Pureblood families did the same. Hopefully teaching our children to tolerate cultural diversity while honouring their Pureblood heritage will ensure we don’t have another War on our hands in the near future.”

Hermione chewed on her lip, “Really?”

“If rehab taught us old Purebloods anything, it was that you can’t have peace without tolerance and respect.” Bellatrix face darkened and she fiddled with the stem of her wine glass. “Both sides lost so much in the War, it was time for a change.”

Hermione was silent for a second or two while the new information sunk it, even though it was right before her eyes, larger than life. She was more than pleased to know that, in the seven years since Voldemort’s downfall, Wizarding Britain seemed to have established a new world order that had adopted all the values of a much more liberal society. It was a glorious feeling to know that the magical world she knew and loved now prided itself on the acceptance of others and had erected new foundations that weren’t built on fear and hate. 

What a shame that she couldn’t remember the progress they’d made. 

“Anyway, drink up,” Bellatrix said, tapping their glasses together before taking a generous mouthful of wine. 

Hermione wanted to know more, but unless she was mistaken, there was anger and upset under Bellatrix’s two-glass buzz. So instead of making Bellatrix more uncomfortable with questions about the War, she raised her glass to sip, but even before it touched her lips, she got a taste of the giddiness to come, as if her brain couldn't wait for the fuzz of intoxication to begin. Hermione half smiled and her eyes fluttered as she swallowed. “Oh, Merlin,” she hummed, with reverence. “That’s good stuff.”

Bellatrix’s eyes brightened again, and she said, “Of course it is. Best of the best that is.”

Hermione nodded in agreement, took another sip. “Damn.”

“Indeed.”

“So, like I said, I have more questions.”

Bellatrix sighed, and murmured, “Of course you do. But I can’t tell you anything else about the War. Not tonight anyway. There’s only so much I...”

“You’re right, I think we’ve spoken enough about the past for one day,” Hermione agreed. She thought back on her discussion with Harry earlier, and said, “To be honest, I’d really like to get to know you a bit better.”

Bellatrix gave her a coquettish look over the rim of her glass. “Would you now?”

Hermione bit her lip again, and nodded. “Cygnus told me a little bit about himself this morning, that’s how I remembered his baby blanket. I think. Maybe if you...”

“Oh, absolutely,” Bellatrix nodded, and Hermione tried to ignore the way the dark witch’s gaze settled on her lips for a second too long. “Let’s see if we can kickstart some memories, hm? Ask away, dove.”

“Well, um...” Bellatrix brought her glass to her lips again and looked at her full on. She wasn’t unattractive, Hermione noted, and she wondered if the wine was going to her head already as she managed to stutter the first thing that came to mind. “W-what’s your favourite colour?”

Bellatrix barked a short laugh and leaned back in her chair. “Hilarious.”

Hermione just shrugged, hoping her nonchalance would mask her embarrassment.

“I like purple.” Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise, and Bellatrix grinned, “I suppose you were expecting something along the lines of Slytherin green?”

She wasn’t far wrong, but Hermione wasn’t going to admit that to her. So she cleared her throat and continued. “What kinds of things do you do?”

“Besides working and arguing with a mini me about eating vegetables?”

“I mean hobbies. Things you do in your spare time.”

“Spare time? What’s that?” Hermione rolled her eyes and gave her a playfully unamused look. Bellatrix raised her palms in surrender. “Alright, fine. I like reading.”

“See, now I’ve got something to work with,” Hermione beamed. “What’s your favourite book?”

“Hard to say. Though I’ve enjoyed all the Muggle classics you’ve recommended over the years.” She began to count off her fingers. “ _To Kill A Mockingbird_ , _Nineteen Eight-Four_ , _The Catcher In The Rye_ , even _Alice In Wonderland_. I’ve read them all.”

Bellatrix’s swoon factor just bumped up a notch. 

“I loved Alice when I was a little girl,” Hermione answered, the conversation coming a little easier to her now that they’d found some common ground. She laughed wryly. “I feel like a bit like Alice now, actually.”

“Oh, darling,” Bellatrix laughed, though Hermione didn’t quite get the joke. “This isn’t Wonderland and you’re not Alice.”

“It sure feels like it,” Hermione muttered.

They spent the next hour or so talking about everything and nothing. Bellatrix gleefully told her about all the hilarious things Cygnus and his cousin Teddy had gotten up to over the years, and by the time Hermione had asked Bellatrix what her favourite movie was ( _The Silence of the Lambs_ ); her favourite animal (an elephant); her favourite school subject (Herbology - surprisingly!); her favourite ice cream (butterscotch); and when her birthday was (October 4th); she was starting to feel quite tipsy. 

Bellatrix was right about the wine, it was quite strong, though it hadn’t escaped her notice that all through their conversation the seemingly bottomless bottle had been replenishing their glasses. 

It must’ve been nearing ten now; dusk had come sooner than expected, giving the garden the look of an old photograph, every familiar thing a shade of grey. A glass jar had appeared on the table at some point, filled with a dancing yellow light that cast inky shadows across Bellatrix’s face.

Hermione couldn’t help but notice how mesmerising Bellatrix’s eyes were in the low light. 

There was something beautiful about the dark witch’s wine clouded gaze that made Hermione’s whole body squirm.

“You were right, this wine is rather strong.” Hermione held her glass up to the little light; the wine was a lovely gold coloured Chardonnay, oaky and rich and absolutely delightful. “But I think your bottle is trying to get us drunk.”

“Mm, yes, it can be quite naughty sometimes,” Bellatrix murmured, and she stared at her with such intensity that Hermione was forced to drop her gaze. 

Somehow she didn’t think Bellatrix was talking about the bottle. 

Quickly, Hermione said, “Harry mentioned that you worked at the Ministry.”

“Did he now?” Bellatrix grinned, amused. 

Hermione nodded. “What is it that you do exactly?”

“I work in the gift shop.”

“Oh,” Hermione frowned. “Right.”

“I’m just teasing,” Bellatrix said with an impish grin. “I work for the DMLE.”

“Really?” Hermione’s mouth fell open in surprise. 

“Mm,” Bellatrix nodded, sipped her wine again. “At the Academy.”

Hermione felt her lips stretch wide into a grin, and her eyebrows arched for the sky. “The Auror Academy?”

Nodding again, Bellatrix said, “Sometimes I liaison with Potter at the Auror Office on dark wizard cases, but mostly I babysit the new recruits.”

“That sounds exciting.”

“It really isn’t,” Bellatrix scoffed, yet the contempt she seemingly had for her job didn’t stop her from launching into a ten minute speel about the basics of Auror training. 

Hermione listened with rapt attention as Bellatrix explained the fundamental skills she was charged with teaching her students; everything from physical fitness to intense wand to wand combat. It was all so very interesting. Hermione could’ve listened to her talk for hours. Her low, educated drawl was comforting as it wrapped around her and carried her off to a world where the tone of her voice was power enough to change everything wrong in the world.

She squeaked and then flushed lightly when she realised that Bellatrix had stopped talking and was waiting expectantly for an answer. 

“I'm sorry, what?” she pipped. 

The dark chuckle that replied was like a soft, rolling thunder that billowed across the sky on a stormy night.

Grinning like a shark, all white teeth and red lips, Bellatrix repeated, “I said: shall we call it a night? The moths are out in force.”

Hermione’s eyes darted to look at the jar in the middle of the table, the dancing yellow flames made soft fizzing noises as little kamikaze bugs dared to get too close. 

Hermione met Bellatrix’s dark gaze again and smiled, scraping her teeth over her bottom lip. 

“I swear, Hermione, if you bite that lip one more time I’m going to bite it for you.”

Hermione stilled, inhaling sharply before asking, “Are...are you flirting with me?”

“Have been for the last few hours, dove...” Bellatrix murmured. “You always were adorably oblivious.” 

Her words gave Hermione pause. 

Then the dark witch seemed to come back to herself with a shake of her head and Hermione was surprised to see the streak of colour bloom across her pale cheekbones. “Forgive me,” she murmured, pushing her wine glass away. “I usually don’t indulge this much...wine loosens my tongue, I apologise if I’ve made you feel uncomfortable.”

Feeling emboldened by both the wine and the flirtatious banter they’d been sharing all evening, Hermione couldn’t stop herself from leaning across the table, and whispering, “You haven’t. In fact, I’m rather enjoying myself.”

She held Bellatrix’s gaze, but after what felt like an eternity in the space of a few heartbeats, the dark witch banished the wine and the glasses to the kitchen, and quickly pushed away from the table. 

“I think it’s time for bed. Goodnight, dove.”

Hermione watched her go, and found her eyes drawn to the sight of swaying hips and bouncing curls. 

Sweet Merlin, she’d definitely had too much, but the immediate future was beginning to look rather interesting.

And if she was as lost as Alice. 

Then Bellatrix was as mad as the bloody hatter. 

Hermione quite liked that too.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s late guys, but between work and Uni and a total rewrite because I wasn’t at all happy, this chapter has been a bitch :D
> 
> A bit of filler and a few new characters for ya’ll before some juicy content in chapter 15 ;D 
> 
> I own nothing. All mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

Spring seemed to wash in like the tide, advancing confidently with warmth and white sunshine one day and retreating the next. On some days, the garden was awash with vibrant hues that bathed everything in tepid air, promising the warm summer ahead, on other days there was still the faint vestiges of winter. But like the tide, the spring couldn’t be stopped, and before Hermione knew it, she’d been home for a full week. 

And what a week it had been.

She’d been saddened to discover that during the time she’d spent in hospital, they should’ve been spending the week away in Skegness. And even though she knew it wasn’t her fault, she couldn’t help but feel that she was responsible for ruining they’re Easter break, so it was important to her that they made the most of the time they had left before Cygnus returned to school. 

They spent a lot of time outdoors; long walks with Rex in the park across the street, an afternoon at Crystal Palace Park so Cygnus could see the dinosaurs, and a trip to London Zoo with Teddy and Andromeda. They’d even went a drive to Brighton for a day at the beach, squashing themselves into the little green Volkswagen Beetle she’d spotted parked in the street when she’d first came home from the hospital. 

Sitting in the passenger seat while Bellatrix flew down the M23 had been a surreal experience to say the least, but when they’d hit heavy traffic near Gatwick airport and Bellatrix had thrown a strop in what had to be the funniest bout of road rage she’d ever seen, Hermione had been amused to no end. 

Even days later she couldn’t stop laughing any time she thought about it. 

And Hermione could see how much Bellatrix loved her. 

It was in the way Bellatrix always had a warm cup of tea waiting for her when she woke up every morning, and the way she spoke about the future, always saying _we_ instead of _me_ , as if she already knew that they would get through the strange predicament Hermione currently found herself in. It was in the way she always gave her time to herself when she needed to be alone with her thoughts, and the way she looked for ways to make her life just a little bit easier, like showing her how to work all the complicated buttons on the dishwasher. But mostly it was in the way she looked at her, all the fleeting little looks, and the way the sparkle in her soulful brown eyes seemed to dull a little whenever Hermione couldn’t quite bring the same depth of emotion to her own eyes. 

Hermione wished she could remember their relationship. It was obvious that Bellatrix wanted her to. Since coming home, Hermione had been having flashes of something - not quite memories, just...something. 

An occasional sense of familiarity and comfort that sometimes bloomed in her chest whenever she wandered through their home. Sometimes she brushed her hand over the sleeve of one of Bellatrix’s jackets in the hall cupboard or picked up one of Cygnus’ toys, and was suddenly struck with a warmth she couldn’t explain.

She didn’t feel so uncomfortable around Bellatrix now, even when her mother had returned home a few days ago after spending the better part of the week with them, it hadn’t been as awkward as she’d expected, but she supposed after a while their relationship was bound to soften around the edges. It was still so strange to think that she’d been in a relationship with this woman for nearly a decade, and yet despite the fact that she was warming rather quickly to the older woman, romance still felt so very far away. At some point over the last few days, she’d started to feel the faint stirrings of a crush, no doubt fuelled by intrigue and admiration, but it was still a far cry from being in a relationship.

If she was being entirely honest with herself, Bellatrix Lestrange was something she’d never expected. She was funny and witty and clever, and beneath the bad girl façade there was a real, genuine, caring person with a warmth about her that Hermione found incredibly endearing. Everyone spoke so highly of her, her friends seemed to get on great with her, her mother adored her, but more than anything, the way she was with Cygnus - fun and patient and loving - was something she secretly found incredibly sexy. 

It made her wonder if Bellatrix had always been that way, or if her softer side had been uncovered during the years they’d spent together. Either way, she still found it a bit of a shock knowing that Bellatrix was the person who made her heart flutter in her chest. But even though she’d forgotten almost everything from the last eight years, it was hard to miss the unmistakable energy that buzzed between them. A closeness and a connection that filled her with a familiar sort of happiness that felt like a beam of light straight to her soul. 

She realised she’d been smiling stupidly to herself when a little boy’s exhilarated squeal pierced her ears and her eyes landed on Bellatrix as she chased little James Potter across the lawn. 

The boy scurried on chubby legs, wobbling to and fro before falling onto his padded bottom. Bellatrix laughed and clapped like it was all part of the game, and James rolled onto his stomach, giggling as only a child could, before tearing away again. 

It was Sunday, and they were enjoying the sunshine in Andromeda’s back garden. It was the warmest day they’d had all week and the sky held a soft blue glow. Teddy and Cygnus were tossing a Quaffle around with Harry at the bottom of the garden, and Hermione felt her chest suddenly grow tight and warm. 

This - the raucous laughter of children, the delicious smell of pot roast chicken and roast potatoes wafting out through the kitchen window, even the sound of Andromeda fussing at her boyfriend to help with this, now stay out of the way, now do that - all of it felt like home. She let it wrap her up in its comforting, familiar presence, and wondered why she couldn’t remember another day like this when it was so bloody wonderful. 

James shrieked again, his whole face alight as Bellatrix dangled him upside down by the ankles. But despite how adorable the youngest Potter was, her eyes didn’t linger on him for very long. Because at some point over the last week, Hermione had developed a fascination with watching Bellatrix. 

The dark witch’s hair was down again, like it had been her first night back home when they’d shared that devious bottle of wine. Her fingers itched to run through it. Then her gaze drifted lower, and she found her eyes drawn to the sight of Bellatrix’s pert arse in scandalously tight Muggle jeans. 

She felt her mouth go dry almost instantly at the sight. 

“Beautiful, eh?” 

Hermione startled, and her head snapped around to look at the man who’d plonked himself in the vacant deck chair next to her. “I...sorry, what?”

“My tulips,” the man said, nodding at the flowers bordering the garden.

Hermione glanced briefly at the flowers. She’d never seen blooms that appeared to kiss the sky as boldly as those scarlet tulips. They raised themselves from the earth as if they were some magic trick turning the timid earth into steady and brilliant flames.

“Or were you lookin’ at something else?” the man winked, his voice husky with the rugged charm of a Scottish twang.

Hermione gawped openly for a few moments, but she wasn’t sure if her sudden inability to form coherent sentences was because she’d been caught ogling Bellatrix or because she was still a little freaked out that Andromeda had settled down with one of the Death Eaters who’d been involved in the skirmish at the Department of Mysteries in her fifth year. 

But she supposed Andromeda’s relationship with Alec Macmillan was more proof that the Ministry’s rehabilitation programme had been a success. 

“Don’t look so worried, lass,” he laughed jovially. “I’m havin’ a laugh.” Hermione forced a weak smile, and Alec said, “Andy booted me out the kitchen. How’re you feelin’, any better?”

“A little.”

Alec stroked his beard and nodded. “Good to hear.”

Hermione dared a glanced at Bellatrix again. Her eyes travelled from the dark witch’s face to her collar bone, visible through the low neckline of her lacy tank top, then to her breasts. The breasts she’d been dating for eight years. She didn't linger too long, just enough to admire how pretty they were.

“You do realise you’ve seen her naked, right?” Alec smirked. “If you asked her nicely I’m sure she’d take you to bed.”

Hermione whirled around to face Alec again. Had he actually just said that? She could tell by his wide grin that he was trying to be funny, but she was mortified, and silently prayed that the earth would just swallow her up whole.

“I didn’t - I wasn’t - I’m not...I’m not even gay!”

Alec laughed roughly. “Give it up, Granger. You think I haven’t been watching you ogle her arse all day?”

“I wasn’t!” Hermione insisted, blushing furiously, but even to her own ears the statement sounded false. 

“Good grief, we’ve all walked in on you two doing the deed at least once,” Alec went on, intent, it would seem, on embarrassing her all the more. “You may not remember, but the rest of us bloody do. No shame, either of you.”

Hermione stared at her hands. They trembled in her lap. He made it sound like everyone was privy to her and Bellatrix’s private affairs, and she felt like she could just die. “I-I have to go,” she stuttered, and jumped to her feet. “Sorry, I just...”

“Oi, Granger, love! I didn’t mean anythin’ by it,” Alec leaped out of his chair, but she was already gone, tearing into the house. He started after her, but recoiled in the doorway when something hard rattled across the top of his head. 

“Alexander Macmillan, what did you do?” Andromeda growled, eyes alight with fury as she pointed a wooden spoon threateningly at him. 

“Me and my big gob,” Alec groaned, furiously rubbing at his forehead. “I just said that it might be a good idea to ask Bella to take her to bed.”

Andromeda’s nostrils flared, and her voice was a low angry hiss as she whispered, “You did what?”

“I just thought a nice shag might jog some memories,” Alec shrugged meekly, looking at Andromeda like a little boy who’d just been scolded for stealing sweets.

“I swear if you ruin this dinner—“

“Too soon, do you think?”

Andromeda swatted him again. “You’re a fucking idiot sometimes, did you know that? I don’t know why I put up with you.” 

“Because you love me?”

“Shut up, you!”

* * *

Hermione had never felt so embarrassed.

She couldn’t believe she’d been caught ogling Bellatrix. 

She wished she could drop through a Scooby-Doo style trap door in the floor and just disappear. 

But there was no rescue from her own embarrassment as she paced in Andromeda’s front room. Merlin’s bollocks, the humiliation! The memory of Alec Macmillan’s smirking face would be forever seared into her brain, ready to pop up and torment her again and again.

Maybe she should leave? Maybe she should—

The loud whoosh of the Floo nearly made her jump out of her skin, and she whirled around just as a well-dressed woman marched out of the fireplace. 

She was slim, with high cheekbones, with shiny greying blonde hair cut into a fashionable bob.

Hermione stared. 

She would’ve been ninety-nine percent certain that this woman was Narcissa Malfoy if it hadn’t been for the fact that she’d spent a very pleasant afternoon with the youngest Black sister just a few days ago when she’d visited the house to show off her new baby grandson and her blue eyes hadn’t looked at her the way this woman’s blue eyes were looking at her now. 

The woman’s cold stare sucked something out of her and Hermione felt herself visibly wilting before her as the temperature in the room dripped. Her icy gaze felt like an act of violence, a glare to stop her heart. 

“Oh, it’s you,” the woman said with false cheer, looking her up and down with no subtlety whatsoever. 

But nothing she said afterwards registered in Hermione’s brain and quite suddenly she felt like she was watching a movie on mute. There was no softness in the woman’s gaze. It was a look that conveyed a bubbling hatred. Disgust perhaps. Yet she was a stranger. Hermione searched her memory for some clue as to where this woman fit into her life, yet no memory of her stirred.

And then fingers were snapping impatiently in her face and Hermione came back to herself with a jolt. 

“Hello! Yes, hello! Are you even listening to me?” the woman huffed with thin lipped impatience. “I said, what are you wearing? It’s rather ghastly.”

Hermione smoothed her shaking hands down her stomach and looked down at her attire. She didn’t think there was anything particularly wrong with jeans and a t-shirt but she may as well have been wearing a potato sack judging by the way this woman’s face was twisted in a distasteful scowl. 

Meekly, Hermione tried, “Um, sorry, do I know—“

“Speak up, girl!” the woman barked. “What in Salazar’s name is wrong with you?”

“I—“

“Did you manage to arrange a gardener to come and see to that hideous tree outside the dining room window?”

Hermione’s mouth opened and closed dumbly. What the bloody hell was this woman on about?

“You said you were going to do it weeks ago,” the woman added at her blank look. “It blocks out all of my light. It simply won’t do.”

“I - I’m sorry,” Hermione stuttered. “I have amnesia, I don’t - I don’t—“

“There you are!” Andromeda said, hurrying into the living room.

 _Oh, Andy, thank God!_ Hermione thought, shoulders sagging in relief. 

“I’m so sorry about Alec, he opens his stupid gob without - oh, Mum...“

 _M-mum_!

If the atmosphere was cold before, then it had now plummeted to sub-zero temperatures. It made her feel breathless all of a sudden. 

“Andromeda, darling!” the woman - Druella bloody Black - gushed, and practically shoved Hermione out of the way to wrap her arms around Andromeda. 

Andromeda didn’t return the embrace. In fact, if Hermione wasn’t mistaken, Andromeda’s whole demeanour was downright frosty as she stood there, ramrod straight with her hands clenched at her sides in white knuckled fists. 

But Druella seemed to be completely oblivious to Andromeda’s discomfort and wasn’t even fazed when her daughter wrenched away, and bluntly demanded, “Why are you here, Mum?”

“I was wondering about your plans for Christmas, dear,” Druella said, and perched herself on the end of the couch, making herself quite at home as she started to peel off her stylish jacket.

“It’s only April,” Andromeda ground out. “And put your jacket back on, you won’t be staying long.”

But Druella went on, unbidden. “Narcissa will be spending this year with Draco, of course, what with the new baby and all. And Bellatrix seems quite incapable of making up her mind right now. She said she was spending it with Joyce this year.”

“Jennifer,” Hermione bristled. 

Druella turned to her. “What’s that, dear?”

“My mum,” Hermione bit. “Her name is Jennifer.”

Druella flicked her fingers at her dismissively and turned back to Andromeda. “Oh, darling, you should see my plans for the dining room. It’ll be gorgeous.” She shot Hermione an accusing glare. “Or at least it will be when that disgusting old tree gets seen to.” 

“I told you I have amnesia,” Hermione snapped, forgetting herself. She’d had more than enough of this woman now, and she’d only known her for five bloody seconds. 

“I know exactly how you feel, dear,” Druella said. “My memory gets worse every day. In fact, just yesterday I—“

“No, Mum. You don’t know how she feels,” Andromeda said stiffly. “Having amnesia isn’t like forgetting where you put your fucking purse.”

Clearly aghast, Druella said, “Language!”

“I’m fifty-fucking-three, I’ll swear in my own house if I want to.” Druella shot her a glance of reproach but didn’t say anything else. “Hermione’s lost quite a bit of time. She doesn’t remember anything after the War. She doesn’t remember Bella or Cygnus. And she certainly doesn’t remember you or your fucking daft tree.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, dear,” Druella said to Hermione, in a tone that was anything but sorry. “Is that why you were acting like some...” She fluttered her had vaguely in the air. “...disabled person when I came in?”

“Mum!” Andromeda growled in warning. 

“I’d be very appreciative if you could contact a gardener though. I’d do it myself, but people in London can be so aggressive.”

“I’ll show you aggressive in a minute,” Andromeda murmured, then louder, “Look, Mum. You need to leave. I have guests.”

“Yes, yes. I must dash anyway, darling.” Druella got to her feet. “I’m hosting a little dinner party for the ladies from my book club. We’re celebrating Lady Fanshawe’s divorce, you see.”

“Riveting,” Andromeda said, but her sarcasm was clearly lost on Druella. 

“Oh, and I must remind the caterers about Lady Avery’s fish allergy!” Druella squawked, crossing to the fireplace. “We can’t have another fiasco like last time. That halibut was divine of course, but the poor dear had indigestion for days!” 

Bluntly, Andromeda said, “Bye, Mum.”

“Oh, yes! About Christmas—“

“Merlin’s arse, Mum!”

Druella scowled and put her hands on her hips, clearly irritated. “I have three daughters. Why is it that I’ve devoted my life to my girls and not one of you will give me a straight answer about Christmas?”

“Because it’s bloody April,” Andromeda flared, giving her mother a filthy look. 

“But—“

“Goodbye.”

With a pinched look on her face, Druella thrust Floo powder into the fireplace and disappeared without a backwards glance. 

Hermione released the breath she didn’t even realise she’d been holding and Andromeda rubbed the bridge of her nose in irritation. 

“I’m so sorry, Hermione,” the dark witch breathed. She mimed stabbing herself in the head. “She’s a horrid old cow...” 

“I don’t think she likes me very much,” Hermione muttered. 

Andromeda rubbed her arm soothingly. “I wouldn’t take it personally, love. She’s like that with everyone. And I’m sorry about Alec, he doesn’t think before he speaks sometimes.”

Hermione felt her face start to redden again. “I might have...overreacted a little.”

“He can’t help it, I suppose,” Andromeda went on with a crooked grin. She tapped her temple. “He has this mental disorder, you see.”

Hermione could see a flash of humour twinkle behind the older witch’s eyes, and decided to play along. “Sounds serious,” she said.

“It is,” Andromeda nodded, and looped her arm through Hermione’s, guiding her back through the house. “He thinks he’s funny. Sometimes his head inflates quite dramatically and his mouth runs away from him so that he says terribly stupid things.”

Hermione grinned. “Oh, well, in that case I suppose I’ll have to forgive him. Is there a cure?”

“A clip around the ear seems to do the trick.”

Hermione laughed.

* * *

“Alright, give me the goss!” Harry demanded, slipping into the kitchen to help Bellatrix with the washing up. 

Startled by Harry’s sudden appearance, Bellatrix fumbled with the plate she was washing and it fell into the sink with a clatter, water and bubbles splashing up into her face. “Fucking hell, Potter!” she snarled, wiping soap suds off her cheek. “What are you babbling about now?”

“Hermione,” Harry grinned, tossing her a dish cloth to dry her hands. “She’s been making googly eyes at you all day.”

Bellatrix snorted and started casting furious Scourgify charms over the kitchen table where the three boys had been sitting during dinner. “Don’t be absurd.” 

Harry laughed at that. “It wasn’t just me who noticed, believe me.” Bellatrix opened her mouth to protest, but Harry interrupted her. “Things seem to be going well.”

“Do they?” Bellatrix shook her head.

Harry’s eyes softened. “She’s been talking about you all day. Telling me all about your adventures and your bad driving. She seems quite taken with you.”

At Harry’s words, Bellatrix felt her hackles rise. “It’s not enough though, it’s it?” she spat, mouth twisting angrily. 

Harry frowned, green eyes roving over the older woman’s suddenly defensive posture. “What’s wrong, Bella? You seem...upset.”

For a moment, Bellatrix just looked at Harry, eyes ablaze, then her body crumbled into a chair at the table. “I’m trying, Harry, but she still can’t remember anything.”

“It’ll come,” Harry reassured. 

Bellatrix just sighed and raked her fingers through her tangled mess of black curls. “Everyone keeps saying that but I just...I don’t know...”

Harry’s frown deepened, and he pulled out a chair beside her. He touched her arm. “Hey, I thought things were a little better?” He laughed wryly. “I mean, she hasn’t screamed in your face again.” He paused. “Has she?”

Bellatrix shook her head but didn’t say anything else. They’d had a good week, but she still felt useless, defeated even. In times like these Hermione was usually the one to pick her back up. She slumped back in her chair, wanting nothing more than to disappear and phase out from the strange new reality she now found herself in. 

The bond she’d shared with Hermione just a few weeks ago had been like a bridge out of her fortressed mind, it had allowed her to set foot outside it's protective compound and explore the sun-warmed grass on the other side. Now Hermione, her Hermione, was gone, and the bridge had been severed. Now, no matter how many people surrounded her, no matter how many people loved her, she was alone.

After a time, Harry said, “Here,” and handed her a crumpled Polaroid he fished out of his pocket. 

“What the hell is this?” Bellatrix demanded, lip curling in distaste as she looked at the photograph. 

“A Joe Bloggs from the Diagon attack.”

Bellatrix glared at him and thrust the photographs back at him as if it was something dirty. “And you’re showing me because?”

“Because you need to concentrate on something other than Hermione for a few minutes.” He gestured to the photograph. “No one’s claimed the body.”

Bellatrix’s brows skyrocketed. “It’s been two weeks.”

“I know. Cosette asked me to come in last week to take a closer look at the body, see if we could figure out who he was.”

Bellatrix scowled. “Dead bodies aren’t my forte anymore, Potter.”

Harry shifted from foot to foot, clearly a little uncomfortable by her choice of words. “I know, but I’d hoped to catch you alone at some point today so I could show you. We found a few things I thought you might be able to help us with.”

“Enlighten me,” Bellatrix drawled, already bored with the conversation. 

“A partial Azkaban ID,” Harry told her, and handed her the photograph again. “Look here.”

Sighing, Bellatrix took the offered photograph and scrutinised it with a critical eye. Without thinking, she reached up and grazed her fingertips across her throat where her own Azkaban tattoo was hidden under a permanent glamour charm. 

“We think he might be one of the Death Eater’s responsible for the attack and that’s why no one’s claimed the body. Remember I told you Macnair was there?” Bellatrix nodded, and Harry continued. “Whatever spell he tried to throw at me veered off into the crowd and hit this guy in the face. At the time we thought he was a civilian.”

“Hm, yes,” Bellatrix hummed, smirking a little. “It’s beyond me how the Ministry even hired him to chop off heads in the first place. Macnair’s aim was never all that good.”

“Do you have any idea who this man is?” Harry asked, leaning forwards in his chair to tap the photograph.

“I don’t exactly have much to work with here. Just because he has a prison ID doesn’t mean he’s a Death Eater. He could’ve been in there for indecent exposure for all you know.” Bellatrix suddenly had a bad taste in her mouth, and she scowled at Harry. “And just because he might be a Death Eater doesn’t mean I know him.”

“I know,” Harry sighed. “I just thought—“

“What’s this shit all over his skin? It’s disgusting.”

“Cosette thinks it’s psoriasis,” Harry replied. “But she doesn’t think he’s tried to treat it in some time. It’s quite bad in some areas. We couldn’t even find the mark.”

“Well, you wouldn’t, would you?” Bellatrix scoffed. “The mark faded when Riddle was destroyed.”

“I know,” Harry said again. “But some of you were left with scarring, and we thought we’d check anyway.”

His shoulders slumped. He’d obviously hoped that she might’ve had some useful information for him. The truth was, since the War, she’d pushed every negative memory and emotion that reminded her of the witch she used to be into the deepest, darkest recesses of her mind and hid them in a place where they couldn’t hurt her anymore. She wanted to help Harry, she really did, but she wasn’t prepared to dig up her past to do that. 

But as hard as she tried to keep those memories hidden, some days they still knocked the wind out of her, and like a great rush of water, one of those memories spilled to the forefront of her mind. 

Harry gave her a hopeful look. “Bella?”

“Look, it might be nothing, but there was this one guy I remember, Scab Pearson—“

“Scab?” Harry laughed nervously. “That’s not his real name, is it?”

“I didn’t ask. I didn’t particularly care either. But he always had this disgusting rash on his neck,” Bellatrix told him. “He ran around with my brother-in-law. Not very bright. So if it is him, then he definitely isn’t the mastermind behind all these attacks.”

Harry nodded, and said, “I’ll look into it.”

“You have a partial ID,” Bellatrix said. “You should cross-check it with Azkaban medical records. If he had that rash when he was first incarcerated then it’ll be in his file.”

To her own ears it sounded more like a command than a suggestion, and Harry almost laughed at her. 

“Are we done?” she asked shortly, pushing away from the table. “Annie’s cracking open a bottle and I could really use a drink.” 

Harry stood too and stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. She scowled at his hand, and he slowly removed it, giving her a concerned once over. She knew he was worried about her, but despite the fact that they’d struck up an easy camaraderie over the last few years, she could still think of at least a dozen things she didn’t like about him.

“How are you, Bella?” he asked, keeping his tone even. “Really, are you doing alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said stiffly.

“And ‘Mione?”

“Also fine.”

“Good. I know you were due back to work tomorrow but if you want to take a few more weeks off...”

“Thank you,” she nodded, then moved to push past him.

“There’s something else,” he said quietly, and it was the sadness in his tone that stopped her in her tracks this time. 

Bellatrix sighed impatiently. “Yes?”

“It’s Timmy’s funeral tomorrow. I just thought...well, Hermione was fond of him.”

Bellatrix pursed her lips in a grim line and nodded. 

“I’ll speak to her,” she murmured.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: While relevant to the plot, there are mentions of stillbirth in the second part of this chapter. Please, please don’t read if you think it may be upsetting for you! I’ve tried to write it as delicately as I possibly could <3 
> 
> Thank you all for your continued support, comments and kudos! 
> 
> I own nothing. All mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

**The next day**

It had barely gone six thirty when Hermione tiptoed down to the kitchen and found Bellatrix and Cygnus already there. She was mildly surprised that they were awake at such an early hour, until she noticed that they were both sleep mussed and bleary-eyed, and Bellatrix was holding a glass of orange juice to Cygnus’ lips, trying to encourage him to sip. 

“You need to drink a bit more, love,” Bellatrix urged softly.

Cygnus shook his head and grimaced. “Don’t care.”

“Do you want a straw?”

“Feel sick.”

“I know, darling, but your sugars will dip again if you don’t have some more. Or do you want some jelly babies instead?”

“Yeah.”

Wordlessly, Bellatrix summoned the bag of jelly sweets they kept in the cupboard solely to treat Cygnus’ low blood sugars, and tipped a handful out onto the table. Cygnus reached for one with trembling fingers but dropped it clumsily onto the table again. 

“Here, let me help,” Bellatrix said, but before she could reach for the little sugary sweets, Cygnus smacked his palm on the table. 

“I can do it!” he snapped. “M’not a baby!”

Bellatrix pursed her lips and sat back in her chair. “Alright,” she said calmly, though the flash of annoyance in her dark eyes wasn’t hard to miss. 

Hermione shuffled silently into the kitchen and pulled out a chair next to Bellatrix. The dark witch didn’t look at her, instead watching Cygnus intently, but she touched Hermione’s knee briefly in acknowledgement. 

After reading the diabetes book Bellatrix had given her, she was well aware that hypoglycaemia caused the brain to lack the sugar it needed to operate at full capacity, and could greatly increase emotional responses, often making diabetics feel exceptionally happy, worried or frightened. 

In Cygnus’ case, he got irritable and snappy.

She remembered the first time she’d experienced Cygnus’ low blood sugars, and she’d rubbed his arm to try and comfort him, only to be pushed away and told to leave him alone. She knew better now though, and sat quietly as Cygnus shakily shoved jelly babies into his mouth, and they waited for his glucose levels to climb back up to an acceptable level. 

Cygnus had suffered several hypoglycaemic episodes since she’d come home, and although it wasn’t a nice thing to see, she was glad that she’d got to experience some of them first-hand so she knew exactly what he needed and how she could help to make him feel better again. There was a part of her that wished she could remember his diagnosis, at least then she might’ve felt like she’d already come to terms with his condition, but no matter how hard she’d tried, the memories just wouldn’t come. In all honesty, the thought of her child having a chronic condition he’d never be free of was harder to digest than anything else she’d experienced since waking up in the hospital. It was hard not to grieve for the healthy child they’d had before, even if she couldn’t remember life before Cygnus’ diagnosis. 

She was terrified in case she did something wrong. What if he needed help and Bellatrix wasn’t there? What if she couldn’t remember his routines or what to do if his blood sugars went awry? 

Of course, when she’d first voiced her fears one night when they’d been clearing up after dinner, Bellatrix had been endlessly supportive. 

_“I don’t want you to worry about Cyg’s diabetes,” Bellatrix said, sending a stack of clean dishes soaring into the cupboard._

_“It’s hard not to,” Hermione replied._

_“I know, love,” the dark witch sighed. “But you’ve been here before. We both have. When he was first diagnosed we went through cycles of feeling sad and angry before we began to fully come to terms with it.” Bellatrix folded her arms and leaned her hip against the counter. “He was diagnosed when he was three, being so young he accepted it easier than we did.”_

_“I feel completely out of my depth,” Hermione replied glumly._

_Bellatrix tapped her forehead, and said, “It’s all up here, you just need to find it.”_

_“I’m trying.”_

_“Here, I want to show you something,” Bellatrix said, and crossed to the fridge. She pulled out a long orange box from the shelf in the door where they kept the butter and handed it to her._

_Hesitantly, Hermione took the box from her and flipped it open. Inside was a vial of powder and a syringe with a needle long enough to make her feel nauseous. The instructions were printed on the underside of the lid._

_“That’s a hypo kit,” Bellatrix explained in a serious tone. “If there ever comes a time when Cyg’s sugars drop so low that he can’t treat himself, he could slip into a coma and die. If he’s in danger, you need to administer this right away. Do you understand?”_

_Hermione gulped. “Perfectly.”_

_“Until your memories return, the only thing I want you to concern yourself with is knowing how to save our boy’s life.”_

The memory faded as Cygnus finished his sweets and slumped back in his chair with his eyes closed, his was face pale and his hair stuck to his forehead in sweaty clumps. After several minutes the colour returned to his cheeks, and he opened his eyes. 

“Feeling better?” Bellatrix asked.

“A little,” Cygnus murmured. 

“Do you want a biscuit?” Bellatrix offered gently, though there was still a bit of an edge to her tone. “Or crackers?”

Cygnus shook his head. “Still feel sick.”

“I know, darling,” Bellatrix said soothingly, and brushed her hand over his shoulder as she passed him on her way over to the cupboard. “You haven’t had a bad hypo like that in a while, but you know you need to eat something afterwards.” 

“Yeah,” Cygnus grumbled, then his ocean eyes darted to Hermione, and he flashed her a shadow of a smile as if just realising she was there. “Morning, Mum.”

He was behaving a little better now, Hermione smiled warmly at him. “Good morning, love.” 

“I think we’ll need to tweak your insulin dosages a bit, what do you think, Cyg?” Bellatrix asked as she pulled a bowl out of the cupboard and summoned milk from the fridge. 

“Dunno. Maybe.” Cygnus shrugged one shoulder. 

“You have an appointment at the hospital in a few weeks,” Bellatrix reminded him. “Shall we wait until you’ve spoken with Healer Booth?” 

Hermione liked that Bellatrix always gave Cygnus options when it came to his diabetes. She knew it was important to teach him to make responsible decisions regarding his own health because there would come a time when they wouldn’t be there to do everything for him. 

“I guess we could change some stuff now,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ve had lots of hypos in the morning.”

Bellatrix set a bowl of cereal down in front of him - Cheeri Owls Hermione noted with a smile, his favourite - then turned to the kettle to start preparing tea. “Eat up then you can go back to bed for an hour or so before Aunt Annie comes to collect you for school.”

Cygnus’ face fell and he whipped around to look at his mother. “Don’t you want me to stay home?” he asked, gazing hopefully at Bellatrix. “I can help to look after Mum.”

“Nice try, you chancing little bugger,” Bellatrix said, shoulders shaking with soft laughter as she tossed tea bags into mugs. “You’ve just had two weeks off, you’re going to school.”

“But what if something happens to Mum again and I’m not here?”

“Don’t be silly, darling. Mum’s just fine.” 

Cygnus looked sceptical and hung his head, but not before Hermione caught the worried little crease between his dark brows. She was flattered by his concern but knew that his anxiety was very real. The last time he’d left her she hadn’t come back the same person. In all honesty, she didn’t really want him to go back to school. Since coming home, being around Cygnus was the only time she didn’t feel like she was falling short. The boy adored her, that much was obvious, and from the moment he’d launched himself into her arms, she’d fallen completely and utterly in love with him. 

Stomach in knots, she reached out and covered his hand with hers. “I’ll be just fine, don’t you worry,” she said kindly. “Anyway, I bet you’ve missed all your friends, hm?”

Cygnus just shrugged again and stared glumly into his cereal. “What are you and Mum going to do today when I’m at school?” 

Hermione met Bellatrix’s eyes as she carried their tea to the table. 

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll think of something,” Bellatrix said lightly, throwing Hermione a look that suggested they’d talk when Cygnus was out of earshot. 

“Ok. Can I watch cartoons with my cereal until I need to get dressed?” he asked. 

Bellatrix nodded around a mouthful of tea and Cygnus pushed away from the table. 

“You promise you’ll be here when I come home from school?” 

Hermione’s eyes softened as he stood in front of her, and she reached out to cradle his face in her hands. “Of course I will. I told you, I’m not going anywhere.” 

Her words seemed to chase the caution away from his face, and he leaned in for a quick hug. When they pulled apart, Hermione nudged him towards the door, sensing his hesitation. “Go on, watch your cartoons.”

“Okay,” he said reluctantly. “Love you, Mum.”

Then he was gone. 

“Bad tempered little shit,” Bellatrix grumbled after the kitchen door had swung closed.

“He had quite a bad hypo,” Hermione tried to reason. “He even struggled to pick up his sweets.”

“It’s not an excuse, Hermione,” Bellatrix huffed. “I won’t be spoken to like that by a bloody seven year old.”

Hermione didn’t say anything. The dark witch looked dog-tired, weary with a tiredness that made her slump limply in her chair, and Hermione wondered if Bellatrix was being kept awake by her thoughts at night too. 

“Did you have a think about what I said last night?” Bellatrix finally asked, voice low even though Cygnus was now in the living room with the telly blaring. 

Hermione bit her lip and nodded. She had thought about it. In fact, it was all she’d thought about since Bellatrix had took her aside last night after they’d returned home from Andromeda’s house, and she’d told her that Timmy was being buried today. 

Timmy, the little boy who’d tragically died during the Diagon attack. Timmy, who she’d apparently been fond of but couldn’t remember a single thing about. She’d been kept awake for hours last night, her head filled with ‘buts’ and ‘what ifs’, wondering what to do for the best but still feeling torn. 

Bellatrix murmured, “It’s entirely up to you.” 

“If I hadn’t lost my memories...” Hermione finally said. “Would I have gone?”

“Absolutely,” Bellatrix said with certainty.

“Then I’ll go.”

* * *

_November 30th 1978_

He’d always been a lover of autumn. 

__

It was the flamboyant colours of the summer flowers as they began to echo the foliage in the trees; a second chance to bloom, for the green to glow with new hues as pretty as any petal. 

__

It was the most beautiful rain; the warmest golds and berry-reds under glassy water and morning frost. 

__

It was the wind; coppery leaves taking to the air in an elegant dance, pirouetting around tree trunks to their own orchestral rustling.

__

Above all else, it should’ve been the promise of a newborn; no bigger than a Mandrake and breathtakingly beautiful. 

__

But the agony of a stillbirth was unlike anything he’d ever experienced and not even the beauty of autumn could’ve eased the pain. The months of excitement, the nights bickering over names, the clothes, the crib - all seemed to magnify the devastating comprehension that his wife had given birth to a baby bearing no signs of life. 

__

It had been a simple service, dignified and short. A few words, a whispered prayer, and a quick cremation. Afterwards, in the chilly shadows of their family home, Bellatrix had sat against a wall as if it was the only thing holding her up. He’d stood and observed her in silence. It had been haunting to see his wife, who always seemed to flutter incessantly with boundless energy, in such total stillness.

__

Now he sat under a tree on a blanket of bronze and gold as he gazed at his father-in-laws grave where his daughter’s ashes had been scattered the day before. 

__

“At least you’re not alone now, old chap,” Rodolphus murmured, his voice thick with the tears he’d cried, the tears he’d continue to cry.

__

The gravestone was still fairly new so the engraving was still clear and easy to read. But he’d spent countless afternoons here with Bellatrix over the last couple of years while she spoke to her father and didn’t need to see the writing to know what it said. 

__

__

In Loving Memory Of  
Cygnus Pollux Black  
March 8th 1920 - June 26th 1976  
Beloved Husband And Father

__

_  
_

And underneath, where the writing was newer, a stark reminder of their loss:

__

__

Vega Lestrange  
Beloved Daughter of Bellatrix and Rodolphus  
November 29th 1978 

__

_  
_

The rustle of leaves met his ears, and he blinked, swallowing the overwhelming urge to weep, and he growled, “What do you want, Rabastan?”

__

“How did you know it was me?” his brother asked, sounding faintly amused as he trudged through the leaves towards him. 

__

Rodolphus didn’t answer, just dropped his gaze to his lap where his hands were clenched into white knuckled fists. When his brother didn’t attempt to console him in any way, he was grateful. 

__

People had been trying to comfort him all day; Alec and Lucius and Narcissa. But no matter how stiffly he tried to stand, no matter how much distance he tried to put between himself and others, well-meaning friends and family still clutched at him with unwanted fingers. He wanted to peel away his own skin where they’d tried to strip out the hurt, as if his allotted time to grieve was already winding down, as if cremating his daughter and putting her to rest with her grandfather meant that he was to forget about the whole tragic ordeal and move on now. 

__

“You look terrible, mate,” Rabastan said, and Rodolphus didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or punch him. 

__

Was it any wonder that he looked like shit though? He hadn’t slept. He couldn’t. And he didn’t know if he ever could again. Not when the image of his Bella - hysterical and clutching at their tiny lifeless bundle - was burned into his eyelids, and her heartbroken wails of anguish still rang in his ears. 

__

Rabastan sounded surprised when he said, “You named it?”

__

Jaw set, Rodolphus gave his brother a sideways glance, and noted the way he stared at the gravestone with a raised brow. 

__

“Yes, we named _her_ ,” he said acidly. “Why wouldn’t we?”

__

Rabastan shrugged casually. “I just thought...never mind.”

__

“What do you want?” Rodolphus asked again.

__

“The Dark Lord sent me, he wants to see you. There’s still work to be done and—“

__

“Tell the Dark Lord he can go fuck himself!” Rodolphus flared, and sprang to his feet in front of Rabastan. 

__

“Be reasonable, mate. I know you’re upset but I’m sure he didn’t mean to—“

__

“He didn’t mean to Crucio my heavily pregnant wife and murder my kid? Is that what you were going to say?” Rodolphus barked an incredulous laugh and shoved roughly at Rabastan’s shoulder. “Just fuck off out my face.”

__

“Rod,” Rabastan tried, reaching for him, but Rodolphus brushed him off and moved to stand in front of his daughter’s grave. 

__

If only he’d noticed the anger in the Dark Lord’s gaze sooner. The moment Bella had announced that she was pregnant it had been painfully obvious that he wasn’t happy, and when Bella’s belly had become too big to safely partake in raids, the Dark Lord had been beyond incensed. Come to think of it, he’d always had a weird, twisted obsession with Bella that he’d never been able to fully fathom, but Rodolphus never imagined he’d ever go to such lengths out of...what? Jealousy? 

__

“It’s not right,” he growled. 

__

Quietly, Rabastan asked, “What isn’t?”

__

“Last week I felt my baby kick! A few days ago I pressed my ear to Bella’s belly and heard my baby’s heart beating strong as a drum! Why should I continue to serve the man who murdered my child!”

__

“You don’t mean that!” Rabastan said firmly, clearly horrified. 

__

“Don’t I?” Rodolphus snarled. Hate flared in his heart, fury itself burning him from the inside out. “Because of him my baby was born sleeping! Because of him my wife’s out of her mind with grief! I can’t do this anymore—”

__

Rabastan insisted, “You don’t know what your saying—”

__

“This isn’t what I signed up for—“

__

“That harpy of yours has been putting ideas in your head, hasn’t she!”

__

“How can you willingly follow a man that promised to purge our world of Mudblood scum when he’s just wilfully murdered a Pureblood baby!”

__

“Fuck sake, you can have another kid, Rod!”

__

That was the breaking point of his patience. 

__

His fist hit Rabastan with such force that when his knuckles connected with his brother’s jaw, pain blazed up his arm. And like that first bitter taste of firewhisky, he craved more. He tackled Rabastan and pinned him down with a knee on his chest so he couldn’t fight back, and reigned blow after blow on his brother’s face. 

__

It wasn’t until blood vessels burst around Rabastan’s eyes and twin streaks of crimson leaked from both nostrils, his nose twisted to the right, that Rodolphus finally stopped. Rabastan blindly threw a sloppy kick, but Rodolphus stepped back, easily evading the blow. 

__

“Th’fuck’s wrong wi’ you!” Rabastan wheezed, tongue thick around the blood pooling in his mouth. “Fight’n wi’ your fists like some dirty Mu’blood!”

__

Rodolohus stood rooted to the spot, jaw clenched, teeth grinding. One deep breath, then another. He needed to get out of here before he did something he’d regret. On the third breath he left, Disapparating to the last place he wanted to be, but the first place he’d thought of when he thought of escape. He stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by all the things she never had the chance to enjoy; her toys, her clothes, her crib. All it took was a moment, and he felt himself start to settle again. 

__

Bella stood by the window, cradling her still rounded belly, and clutching a little plush unicorn to her chest. It was only when his wife turned to him with her pale, tear streaked face that he realised that he maybe shouldn’t have come here. He hadn’t even considered that she might not have wanted to see him. But before he could say anything, she held her hand out to him, and he knew that coming here was the right thing to do. 

__

He pressed his chest against her warm back and rested his chin on her shoulder, arms wrapping around her to flatten his palms against her belly. She covered his hands with hers, thumbs brushing over his scraped and bleeding knuckles. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything. 

__

They stood still and quiet for a long time, interlocking their hearts as much as their fingers, taking comfort from each other in a way that they’d never done before, two souls broken beyond mortal repair. 

__

When Bella finally spoke it was with a voice that didn’t sound like her own, hoarse and small. 

__

“I’m done.”

__

Rodolphus knew instantly what she meant. 

__

She was their daughter, their only child, and a love like that knew no bounds. 

__

He didn’t much care how it happened. He didn’t even need him to suffer. He just needed his cold black eyes extinguished from this Earth.

__

Should their hands break, they would beat him with their broken bones until he was nothing but dust. 

__

He took their child.

__

_And now it was war._

* * *

The funeral was all black clothes and white waxy faces, every one of them with puffed red eyes. 

It was a glorious sight indeed; watching all the Mudbloods and blood traitors struggle to hold back their grief. He would’ve laughed in their faces if he’d stood amongst them. 

But right now he was waiting. 

Watching and waiting. 

Hunkered down behind a prickly shrub near the edge of cemetery, waiting for what surely had to be the last of the funerals from their little spree in Diagon to end, and watching for any sign of Potter. 

As of yet, there was no sign of either. 

The slight wind that had seemed mild that morning was now biting cold and licked at his face. His palm bit into his wand as he gripped it in his pocket and cast a silent warming charm. He knew the spell wouldn’t last long, but hopefully it would give him enough of a reprieve to get through the next half hour or so. 

Everyone’s heads were bowed now. Maybe it was their way of showing respect, or maybe it was because they were too afraid to look at what was coming. 

The coffin was a tiny little thing, carried by four big men with ashen faces, and the Mudbitch’s voice rang in his ears as he watched. 

_A little boy died today, did you know that?_

The last time he’d been to a kid’s funeral it had been...well, he didn’t want to think about that right now. The memory was still a painful one. Not because of the funeral itself, but because of the shit storm that had come after. 

He glanced away, turning instead to the newest part of the cemetery where row upon row of white marble tombstones all rose from the neatly manicured grass. Each one perfect, polished, and exactly the same as all of the others, except for the name it bore.

His brother was there. 

And he hated it. 

Hated knowing that Rodolphus was buried amongst filth. 

He often wondered how his brother would’ve felt about it, resting amongst the witches and wizards who’d died opposing his Lord. 

Sometimes the memory of him made his chest ache.

They said he had to stop thinking about him, but the longing he felt for his brother filled him with such rage and bitterness that he thought he might explode. One day he would grieve properly for him, but first he would have to accept that he was really gone - and though he died fighting against everything they’d once stood for, there was a part of him that held that memory back. There was part of him that would never accept that he’d died for the Order. 

Died for _her_. 

The girl his brother had met decades ago under the old tree in their parents garden. The girl with the wild hair and even wilder eyes. The girl who’d poisoned his brother’s mind and stole him away. His need for revenge was like an abscess on his skin, festering like a sceptic wound that could only be cured by the sharp point of a blade. 

He remembered his last conversation with Rodolphus, when he’d caught him by the sleeve in a crumbling corridor during The Battle of Hogwarts. They’d just stared at each other, and for a moment he’d been convinced that he’d still been on their side. Then he’d murmured a gruff, “Stay safe, little brother,” and disappeared into the Great Hall to rejoin the fighting.

That was the last time he’d seen him.

He’d given up all hope that he’d somehow made it out of the battle alive when he’d spotted his name amongst the men and woman who’d fallen in an article in the _Daily Prophet_. 

Thinking about it now made him rigid with fury and he punched his fist into the dirt. 

He turned back to the funeral. A woman - the mother, perhaps? - had sunk to her knees as the coffin was being lowered. Her grief came in waves, each piecing cry louder than the last until he felt like his ears might bleed. 

His lip curled in disgust. 

A few people rushed to the woman’s aid, tried to pull her back to her feet, and as the crowd dispersed a little, he saw her. 

He hadn’t expected to see her here, yet she was unmistakable standing there, with hair that shone like the sea at night and those soulless black eyes. He felt the control he held over his emotions suddenly begin to slip. He felt his palms begin to sweat and his breath quicken. His skin prickle and his blood boil. 

The sight of her was enough to curdle his stomach, but for the longest time, all he could do was watch. Then he spotted something else. Something even more unexpected than seeing Bellatrix Black at this bloody funeral. 

The Mudblood whore - eyes red-rimmed and face streaked with tears. 

He watched Bellatrix hand her a handkerchief, and for a brief moment, the lack of any real fear on the Mudbloods face made him believe that his little trick back in Diagon had failed. The very notion caused his teeth to grind and his nails to bite into his palm. 

Not even the sight of the Mudblood upset, shoulders shaking as she reached up to cover her muffled sobs with a trembling fist, was enough to penetrate his dark thoughts. Then Bellatrix lifted her hand as if to comfort her, before seeming to think better of it, and her arm dropped to her side again. 

And that’s when he realised...

The torment that glistened in the dark witch’s eyes was as clear as day, and he knew it had nothing to do with the funeral that had just taken place. 

It was loss. 

It was grief. 

It was a pain beyond measure. 

It was a look he’d become familiar with over the years, a look that was surely mirrored in his own face.

But seeing Bellatrix Black suffer was nothing short of wonderful. 

He’d waited so long to see her like this. It took a conscious effort to restrain his bark of delighted laughter, to watch silently from his hiding place and relish the hushed agony etched in the lines on her wretched face. 

The funeral began to break up, and he watched them slip away from the crowd, offering a few condolences as they went, before walking the gravel path towards the east exit back to Hogsmeade. Muttering a quick Notice-Me-Not, he ducked behind the row of shrubs he’d been hiding behind to catch up with them. 

“Are you alright?” he heard Bellatrix ask. 

The Mudblood hiccuped pathetically and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “I - I’m fine, I just...he was so young.”

“I know, love,” Bellatrix murmured. “It doesn’t bear thinking about.”

They were silent for a time as they drew closer, until they finally came to a stop right next to the row of low shrubs where he was hiding. 

“I’d like to apologise about my mother,” Bellatrix said with a grimace. 

“Ah, yes.” The Mudblood laughed nervously. “Charming woman.”

“She’s a fucking menace! I hope she didn’t give you a hard time about that daft tree?” Bellatrix sucked her teeth in annoyance. “She’s incapable of doing anything for herself, you see. She was harping on about that tree for weeks before you finally lost the rag with her and told her you’d contact a bloody gardener on her behalf.”

“I can’t imagine losing the rag with her. She’s quite frightening.”

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. “She’s a pussy cat.”

“Well, I suppose I should still sort the tree out for her. Amnesia or not, I did say I’d do it.”

Rabastan’s eyebrows shot up at that, and he had to refrain from rubbing his hands together with glee.

“Shall we stop in town for a quick drink?” Bellatrix suggested. “A toast for Timmy?”

“For Timmy,” the girl agreed, and they both left the cemetery. 

Perhaps Diagon hadn’t been a complete loss after all. And now he also had the most marvellous idea. 

“Your time will come, bitch,” he growled lowly. 

But until then, there were other ways to make Bellatrix fucking Black hurt. He would make her hurt the same way she’d made him hurt. One by one he would take away everything that was precious to her. 

Because Bellatrix Black had cut him with her betrayal. 

But Rabastan would parry with his vengeance.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 16, I really enjoyed this one. I thought we needed something nice to dull the pain from last week!!
> 
> I own nothing. All mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

_She tried to move again, but something heavy and warm was draped across her legs. With a whimper, she managed to rise up on her hands and roll herself onto her back. Grit and shattered glass dug into her shoulder blades, but she didn’t care. All she could do was clutch at her burning side and pant harshly through her nose in a desperate attempt to catch her breath. Then she pushed up onto her elbow to get a better look at what had her legs pinned - and immediately wished she hadn’t._

_There was another body lying next to her._

_A tiny, mangled body with wet, dark hair._

_Oh, no. Please, no._

_Hermione croaked, “Cyg?”_

_There was no response._

_Cygnus’ dead eyes reflected the charcoal clouds above, their dark beauty lost in her little boy’s empty gaze. There was a large piece of wood protruding from his side, his once yellow raincoat was now a deep, wet black and was plastered to his skinny frame with blood._

_Hermione reached out to press her palms against his mangled flesh. You were supposed to stop bleeding by putting pressure on wounds. But, oh, there was so much blood - dark crimson, with a metallic scent that overpowered her senses and made her want to retch._

_“Cygnus?” she tried again, even though she knew he was gone._

“Cygnus!”

Hermione woke with the echo of her own scream ringing in her ears and the image of her dead son burned into her brain. 

_It was a nightmare_ , she tried to tell herself, fisting her trembling hands in her hair. _Just another nightmare_

Taking deep breaths, she waited for the throes of her night terror to leave her and her mind began to defog. Slowly, her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness and she noted the soft light of day slowly creeping under the curtains. She was warm and she felt safe. The duvet was pulled nearly up to her chin, and the heat from the body sprawled next to her was almost enough to lull her back to sleep.

Hermione turned her head slightly, and smiled when her amber gaze met dark eyes the colour of rain kissed earth, just bright enough to shine in the shadows. 

“Good morning, gorgeous,” she murmured. 

Rex licked her.

* * *

Bellatrix hadn’t been sleeping well. 

And by the sounds of it, neither had Hermione. 

Every night since they’d attended little Tim’s funeral over a week ago she’d woken during the early hours with Hermione’s strangled cries reverberating in her ears. She’d tried to discuss the dark shadows under Hermione’s eyes on several occasions, but the girl never answered truthfully, and Bellatrix had long since given up. It was clear that Hermione was hurting, but it hurt her even more knowing that she wasn’t the person Hermione wanted to confide in anymore. 

She missed the way things used to be. 

She missed the way Hermione used to be. 

And although Hermione’s memories seemed to be coming back in dribs and drabs, the worrying lack of progress was starting to stress her, and she felt her stomach knotting up. She hadn’t felt this nervous since her NEWT exams, and the physical toll over the last week was starting to play havoc with her digestive system.

With a weary sigh, she pushed away the uneaten plate of dry toast, and boiled the kettle for the fourth time that morning. She was rigid with tension, and like hail on a glass pane, the drumming of her fingers was as relentless as it was loud. Each click of her fingernails against the counter echoed the tumultuous thudding of her heart beat as she busied herself with preparing another mug. 

The ginger tea Andromeda had given her seemed to be helping a little, even though anything remotely tasting or smelling of ginger usually made her dry heave. She remembered the summers spent at Grimmauld Place when she was a little girl, and how their aunt would often give them ginger ale. Her sisters loved it, but she had always asked for lemonade instead. 

When the tea was ready, she stood at the window and drank. She wondered if anyone had noticed how pretty the sky was today, how the blue was bright and soft all at once. What a shame it did little to improve her mood. 

The little owl smacked right into the window, a bang and a blur of brown. Bellatrix shrieked as tea spewed up at the jerk of her hand, sloshing down the front of her pyjama top. Cursing loudly, she dropped the mug into the sink with a clatter.

“Fucking bird,” she hissed, and watched as the idiot owl fluttered onto the sill and dropped the _Daily Prophet_ , then it gave her an affronted look before winging away again. 

Her top was saturated and reeked of ginger. Heart pounding in her throat, she peeled it away from her burning skin and stripped it off, using it to mop up the spill on the counter. In black bra, flannel shorts, and thick socks, she slung the sodden shirt into the washing machine with more viciousness than necessary, and turned. 

Hermione stared at her from the kitchen doorway. 

There was a split-second where time seemed to stand still. Bellatrix stared at her. Hermione stared at her tits, then her eyes popped, and she choked a strangled, “I’m so sorry!” 

She spun around, and in her haste to flee, smacked straight into the door frame with a crack that sounded like a bludger hitting a brick wall. 

“Fucking hell! Are you alright?” Bellatrix rushed over to where Hermione was staggering, and grabbed her by the shoulders. 

“S-sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Sit down,” Bellatrix ordered, and gently guided Hermione to the floor. “Shit, you’re bleeding!”

Hermione looked dazed and pressed her trembling fingers to her temple, eyes widening when they came away red and sticky. Bellatrix crouched down beside her and gently pushed her hair back off her forehead to get a better look at the bleeding cut above her eyebrow. It looked worse than it actually was and Bellatrix was satisfied she wouldn’t have to crack open the Dittany or Floo Andromeda for assistance. 

“Hold still, love,” Bellatrix said, and reached up to retrieve her wand from where it was currently nestled amongst the knot in her hair. “I’ll have you patched up in a jiffy.”

“Um...” Hermione blinked, amber eyes impossibly wide. “B-Bellatrix...d-do you realise...”

Bellatrix muttered a quick Episkey and watched the torn flesh on Hermione’s forehead began to knit itself back together. Hermione hissed and reached up. 

“Don’t touch,” Bellatrix told her, slapping her hand away, then spelled away the blood with a nonverbal Tergeo. 

“Bellatrix, your - your...”

Bellatrix cocked a brow, followed Hermione’s gaze, and realised that the girl’s face was practically pressed into her cleavage, and she laughed. 

She couldn’t help it. 

If only Hermione knew just how much she loved these tits.

“Is one bump on the head not enough for you?” she giggled, shoulders shaking at the utter ridiculousness of the situation she found herself in.

Clearly still dazed, Hermione murmured, “I - I’m sorry...it’s just - you’re - I heard you scream - I thought...I thought...”

“It’s alright, darling,” Bellatrix sniggered. “A dozy little post owl nearly gave me a coronary, that’s all. Can you stand?”

“Um...I think so.”

Bellatrix carefully pulled Hermione to her feet, but she was still a little unsteady, and Bellatrix tried to ignore the feeling of her witch’s hands wrapped around her bare waist. 

“Let me look at you,” Bellatrix said, and gently cupped Hermione’s chin.

Hermione leaned in, perhaps accidentally, and Bellatrix swallowed when a beautiful flush streaked across Hermione’s face. She could see every golden hue in Hermione’s eyes, and her mouth fell open a little. She briefly thought about pressing forwards, but instead reached up with her other hand and gently brushed her knuckles down the side of Hermione’s face. 

“Good as new,” Bellatrix whispered.

Hermione breathed, “Yeah.”

* * *

There was something about the way that Bellatrix said those words that made Hermione blush all the more. And suddenly, she became all too aware of the rather compromising position she found herself in. 

Bellatrix’s hands on her face. Her own hands on Bellatrix’s soft, womanly curves. Bellatrix’s nearly naked chest pressed against hers. The feel of Bellatrix’s warm, smooth skin under her fingertips. Bellatrix’s long lashes. Bellatrix’s bright eyes. Bellatrix’s plump, softly parted lips. Bellatrix’s hot breath ghosting over her face, and Hermione could practically taste just how close the dark witch was. And the urge to follow the whisper of her breath and chase it back to where it came from was almost overwhelming. 

Their closeness was dangerous.

But Hermione wanted to be ever closer. 

And for a moment, they just stood there, staring deeply at each other. Hermione couldn’t even find it within herself to swallow her growing embarrassment, so entranced was she by Bellatrix’s soulful brown eyes and dark fluttering lashes. 

“Am I interrupting something?”

They sprang apart like they’d been burned and whirled around to face the fireplace where Harry’s smirking face was looking at them from the hearth. 

“No!” Hermione very nearly shouted, internally flinching at how quickly she’d denied the accusation.

“What do you want, Potter?” Bellatrix growled, snatching a dish towel off the counter to conceal her barely bra covered breasts. 

“Ginny and I thought Hermione might like to spend the day with us?” Harry said, his smirk growing wider by the second as his eyes flickered between them. “Ron’s here too. Just to get a change of scenery?”

Internally, Hermione was pleased at the thought of doing something different. She glanced at Bellatrix. She looked just as eager to get away, even if it was only to escape the awkwardness that suddenly shrouded them. Hermione didn’t blame her at all.

The dark witch looked at her, and asked, “Are you alright to go on your own?”

Hermione could tell that if she’d asked her, Bellatrix would’ve come along. But she deserved a break, the last few days had been tiresome, and she looked exhausted.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Hermione said eventually, and tried to tell herself that she wasn’t a bit worried about being separated from her. Bellatrix was the only person she’d spent any real time with over the last few weeks. It made sense that she would become attached. 

“Come on through when you’re ready, ‘Mione,” Harry said. “I’ll tell Kreacher to put the kettle on.”

Then he was gone again. 

Bellatrix took a step towards her then aborted the movement. Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that Bellatrix had been moving it for a goodbye kiss.

Hermione opened her mouth, not sure what to say, then quickly settled on, “I’ll see you later?”

“Yes,” Bellatrix said. “Of course.”

Hermione gave her a strained smile and quickly disappeared through the Floo after Harry.

* * *

“I can’t believe you walked in on them, Harry!” Ron guffawed around a mouthful of corned beef sandwich as Harry, for what had to be the third or fourth time that day, recounted the scene he’d walked in on that morning. 

“I told you, it wasn’t like that!” Hermione insisted. If she didn’t feel so embarrassed about it then it might’ve been funny. But she felt like a bloody teenager again - and it was beyond infuriating.

“Save it!” Harry grinned. “You were all over each other!”

“We were hardly—“

“You know, I was reading a book about amnesia the other day,” Ron interrupted. “And—“

Harry cut him off with a loud exaggerated gasp, and clutched theatrically at his chest. “You? Read a book? Will wonders ever cease!”

Ron jabbed him in the ribs with a bony elbow. “Shut it! Anyway, as I was saying,” he continued. “It said that one of the best triggers to recover memory was smell. Maybe you should, I dunno, smell her or something?”

“Yeah!” Harry agreed. “You two should totally have sex!”

Sweet Merlin. Hermione felt her face flush with embarrassment. She glanced at Ron, whose face had also turned an interesting shade of red.

“That’s not what I meant, Harry—“ Ron started to say.

“No, listen, listen!” Harry insisted, sounding far too excited for Hermione’s liking. “Ask her to take you to bed. You know, maybe that—“ Harry gestured vaguely with his hand, trying to find the right words. “—that after sex smell will trigger something?”

What was everyone’s obsession with telling her to sleep with Bellatrix? Hermione silently prayed for a convenient trap door to open under her feet and whisk her away, yet she couldn’t stop the image of Bellatrix’s perfect, pale breasts from infiltrating her mind once more. 

“It’s natures own amnesia cure!” Harry went on.

“You two are just awful!” Ginny said, but she was laughing a little too. “Just ignore them, ‘Mione.”

The boys at least had the decency to hang their heads, even if their shoulders were still shaking with quiet sniggers. But despite her embarrassment, Hermione couldn’t help but swell with warm affection. These were the boys she knew and loved so much. 

Thankfully, the conversation changed rather quickly to Quidditch after that, and Ginny silently jerked her head in the direction of the kitchen while Harry and Ron argued over the merits of the Chudley Cannons’ new creative keeping techniques. 

“Sorry about those two,” Ginny said once they’d sat down at the long kitchen table with mugs of tea. 

Hermione took a heavy sip and sat back in her chair. “Still as juvenile as ever, I see.”

Ginny’s lips tugged into a wry grin, and she said, “Mm, boys immature with age apparently.” 

Hermione gave Ginny a tight-lipped smile and fiddled with the handle on her mug. She wondered what Bellatrix was doing right now, wondered if she’d stayed home alone or if she’d perhaps went to visit her sisters. She’d had a nice day though. It was good to spend some time with her friends. But it was still a strange feeling, not having Bellatrix there.

Sensing the change in the air, Ginny gave her a hesitant look, and tentatively asked, “How are things at home?” 

“Fine. Things are...fine,” Hermione admitted. In fact, they were more than fine. Even if she’d been struggling at nights for the last week. 

“Do you have any memories of living there?”

“I’m not really sure,” Hermione admitted with a sigh. “Maybe. It’s a lovely big house though.”

“Of course it it,” Ginny laughed. “She’s stinking rich!”

“Ginny!” Hermione admonished.

“Well she is!” The red head insisted. “She bought you that house as a bloody graduation present for crying out loud.”

“She - she bought me a house?” Hermione was stricken. 

“Merlin’s arse, Hermione! Have you even looked at that rock on your finger!”

Hermione dropped her gaze to the diamond that was currently wrapped around her mug and noted, not for the first time, how beautifully it glittered in the light. Suddenly the fancy hospital room and the big house made sense. 

It all left her feeling a little faint. 

“Can I ask...” Hermione said hesitantly. “I mean, I don’t want to make things even more awkward between us by asking Bellatrix, but have we really been together for so long?”

“Oh, yeah,” Ginny nodded. “And you were completely hung up on each other long before anything was official. It was almost sickening, let me tell you.” 

Hermione couldn’t help the faint smile that curled at the corner of her mouth. It was strange, because just a few short weeks ago the thought of being in a romantic relationship with Bellatrix Lestrange had turned her stomach, but now...

“How is she doing?” Hermione finally asked, biting her lip. “Bellatrix, I mean. With all this.” She waved vaguely at her head. “Do you know if she’s spoken to anyone about it?”

“She’s tough,” Ginny said, her tone turning somber. “Always has been. But I know Andy’s quite worried. This has been a lot for her.”

“I just...I still can’t believe Bellatrix is the person I’ve fallen for.”

Ginny gave her a hard look, and she said, “Can I be honest with you, Hermione?”

“Please.” 

She clasped her hands tightly around her mug and braced herself, she could sense Ginny becoming serious. 

“I think you’re scared.”

“Of course I’m scared,” Hermione bristled. “I’ve lost all my bloody memories.”

Ginny shook her head fiercely and leaned across the table. “No, I think you’re scared to give Bella a chance.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because I’ve never seen you blush so much talking about tits before! You were never this prudish, even when you first started shagging, and we all found out about it.”

“Ginny—“

“You’re using your amnesia as an excuse.”

“I’m not!”

“You bloody well are and you know it!”

“I just don’t know how you all expect me to love someone who tortured me!”

“Bellatrix _Lestrange_ tortured you!” Ginny hissed. “Bellatrix _Black_ loves you!”

Hermione felt like she’d been slapped, and it was completely unexpected. Maybe Ginny was right. She knew deep down that Bellatrix must be who everyone said she was, that she was in a relationship with her, but it was perplexing to look at her and feel nothing when everyone else clearly expected a different reaction. Sometimes she stared at Bellatrix when she wasn’t looking, waiting for some jolt of familiarity to kick in that wasn’t the smell of blood and fear as a blade was dug into her flesh.

But despite the sad looks and long gazes and gentle attentiveness, she just couldn’t recall anything at all about their supposed relationship, and she had the distinct feeling she was breaking the dark witch’s heart a little more every minute her memory didn’t come back. 

But then, she couldn’t very well force herself to love Bellatrix either, and she wished, not for the first time, that she could just snap her fingers and all her memories would come rushing back. A single tear slid down her cheek and she hurried to swipe it away. Ginny reached across the table and squeezed her hand, her expression much softer. 

“Look, I’m not trying to guilt trip you,” Ginny said gently. “I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult this is for you, but Bella loves you, give her a chance to prove it.”

Ginny was right. 

Maybe she didn’t remember falling for Bellatrix, but if they had to rebuild their relationship from the ground up, then so be it, but she wouldn’t get anywhere if she was constantly thinking about Bellatrix Lestrange instead of Bella Black.

* * *

It was nearing dinner time when Hermione returned from Grimmauld Place. She found Bellatrix in the garden, glasses perched on the end of her nose and a mug of tea resting by her elbow as she frowned down at the pile of Cygnus’ homework sheets spread out in front of her on the table. 

“Do you understand algebra?” Bellatrix asked in lieu of a greeting when Hermione pulled a chair out beside her. “I don’t think it’s even math. It has letters in it. I think math should stop being math when the alphabet gets involved.”

“Are you doing Cyg’s homework for him?” Hermione lightly chastised, but she was smiling.

“Just question four,” Bellatrix told her, dropping her pen on top of the worksheet with a huff. “He can’t get his head around it.”

“Neither can you by the looks of it,” Hermione teased, and picked up pen. “Give it here, I rather like math.”

Bellatrix slid the worksheet across the table towards her and pushed her glasses up onto her head. “I know you do,” she smirked. “That’s why I leave the maths homework to you.”

“Algebra’s a lot like Ancient Runes,” Hermione explained. “You know, using numbers and symbols to decode—“

Bellatrix held up her hand. “Quit while you’re ahead, darling. I failed Ancient Runes.”

Hermione bit her lip to stifle her laughter. Luckily for Cygnus, she’d always loved numbers, had always been good with them, as a child, as a teenager, as and adult, and quickly solved the maths problem without much effort. 

“They didn’t call you the brightest witch for nothing,” Bellatrix teased, sliding the worksheet back into Cygnus’ book when she was done. “Anyway, how was your day?”

“It was nice,” Hermione beamed. “Spending time with my friends. Just like...”

“Mm?”

“It’s nice spending time with you.” Hermione felt the flush creep up her neck as she said it, but she thought, at the very least, that Bellatrix deserved to know that. Then she thought about her conversation with Ginny earlier, and quickly added, “You know, I’ve been home for a while now and I don’t think I’ve thanked you.”

Bellatrix’s brow creased, and she asked, “For what, love?”

“For being so good about all this. I know it can’t be easy for you and Cygnus, but I’ll...I’ll try harder.”

“Hermione,” Bellatrix murmured. “We’re Black’s, Cygnus and I, we’ll be fine. We’re made of tough stuff. Just you do what you need to so you get better.”

Hermione just stared at her, eyes hot with the threat of tears. Bellatrix stared back, the way she sometimes did when she thought Hermione didn’t notice. And Merlin, those eyes, so full of warmth and love. 

She drowned in them. 

The moment seemed to stretch for an impossibly long time, and Hermione felt like she was back in the kitchen again, with her hands wrapped around a thin waist and soft breasts pressed into her chest, and she knew in that moment that Bellatrix felt it too, the spark of energy that suddenly charged between them. 

Hermione fought back the urge to close the distance between them again, and gently squeezed the dark witch’s hand instead, fingers lingering for a moment, before she pulled away.

Bellatrix’s lashes fluttered and she pushed away from the table. “I’m glad you had a good time,” she murmured. “Shall we make a start on dinner?”

“Yeah,” Hermione whispered, and with something akin to yearning blooming in her chest, she followed her inside, all the while trying to tell herself that she didn’t wish Bellatrix was still looking at her like that.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some filler before another interesting chapter next week (or possibly a little later because, you know, essays are due and I can’t neglect Uni as much as I’d like to! :D)
> 
> Hope you’re all still enjoying H and B’s journey so far. I have heaps planned for this little fic! 
> 
> I own nothing. All mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

A few days later, Hermione saw a Healer from the Janus Thickey Ward.

His name was Thaddeus. He was an older gentleman, with white hair and a friendly smile, and for almost an hour they sat at a table in his office and drank terrible hospital coffee while they did some tests. Silly things that she initially thought were simple, until she was asked to remember a short story and memorise twenty words, and she realised that the exercises were more mentally draining than she’d first thought. 

“You seem to be functioning extremely well, Hermione,” Thaddeus beamed, crossing off the last box on his check list. “You’re short term memory is reasonably good considering you had such a serious head injury.”

“Really?” Hermione asked meekly, unconvinced despite Thaddeus enthusiasm.

“Oh, for sure,” he nodded. “I know it might not seem like it, I know you think you should’ve done better with those last couple of tests, but you did a good job.” 

Hermione sighed and shook her head.

Thaddeus leaned forwards in his chair. “It seems to me that when you bumped your head, you damaged the part of your brain that retrieves memories. Think of it like a filing cabinet filled with hundreds and hundreds of memories. The filing cabinet is intact after your accident, but you’re just having trouble opening it.” 

His eyes were shining as if it was all really interesting and fabulous. 

Hermione just felt hopeless. 

“Can’t you just bash me in the head or something?” she grumbled. 

He looked faintly amused, and said, “Contrary to popular belief, bashing and amnesiac on the head doesn’t bring back their memories. So please don’t try that at home.” 

When his attempt at humour fell flat, he gave her a careful look over his wire rimmed glasses. “How are things going in general, Hermione?”

“I’ve...I’ve been having dreams,” she told him hesitantly. “Unpleasant dreams. Nightmares, really.”

Thaddeus stroked his beard thoughtfully, and hummed, “That sounds promising.”

Hermione frowned at him. 

“Do you think you’re remembering fragments of the attack?”

Hermione just shrugged. It’s not like she hadn’t thought about that. She’d had bad dreams in the past, but never the same endless disturbing nightmare night after night. It was exhausting, being rattled awake every night to find her heart ricochetting around inside her rib cage and the sheets soaked in sweat. And then her arm would shoot out towards the empty side of the bed, and for some reason that always seemed to make the gut-wrenching fear worse. Her only saving grace was that Rex had been sleeping with her most nights, and she tried to tell herself that the presence of the protective little dog was what helped to lull her back to sleep, and not the lingering scent of Bellatrix’s woody perfume. 

“Head injuries can be tricky,” Thaddeus went on when she didn’t reply. “But in my experience, humans are more likely to remember negative experiences than positive ones. In fact, many Muggle psychologists think that this has evolutionary roots.”

“Evolutionary roots?” Hermione repeated, intrigued. 

“For survival,” Thaddeus nodded. “For example, let’s imagine you’re walking in the forest at night, it’s more important you notice the werewolf about to attack you than it is for you to notice the beautiful flowers growing in the brush.”

Hermione pondered this for a moment, then nodded in agreement. “I suppose makes sense.”

Thaddeus leaned his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers under his chin, his expression turning serious. “You know, there’s a very good chance you won’t get any of your memories back at all, don’t you?”

Hermione swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded. “I know. But I’ve been remembering some things. Little things.”

Thaddeus looked pleased, and asked, “Such as?”

“My son’s baby blanket. The first time I met him the memory just sort of fell into my lap.”

Thaddeus nodded, and scribbled something on his clipboard. “What about your fiancée? Madam Black?”

“Nothing significant,” Hermione told him quietly. “But sometimes I feel...”

“Yes?”

“Sometimes I feel...emotions.”

“What kinds of emotions?”

Hermione ducked her head a little. “I don’t know. Friendship. Safety.”

Thaddeus smiled. “Madam Black. She makes you feel safe?”

Hermione felt her cheeks growing hot. “I — well, I’m not sure, I suppose...”

“Have you spoken to her about this at all?”

Hermione shook her head. “Honestly, I don’t think I can. Not right now anyway. There’s still so much I want to ask her, so much I want to know about our relationship, but...”

Thaddeus smiled gently at her. “So why don’t you ask her?”

 _Why indeed_ , Hermione thought. 

There had been countless times over the past few weeks when she’d wanted to ask questions; about them, about their life together, about Phoenix House, about the War. She’d tried to tell herself that she didn’t want to ask those questions because she didn’t want to upset Bellatrix, because she knew some subjects were touchy, and some were just downright off limits, but she also knew that she didn’t want to ask because she wasn’t entirely sure she was prepared for the answers she’d get. 

“I suppose I’m just afraid about what she’ll say,” Hermione finally admitted, but even before the words left her mouth she couldn’t help but feel foolish. “I suppose I’m just doubting myself. I really don’t know how I’ll react if she tells me something I’m not prepared to hear.”

To his credit, Thaddeus didn’t laugh at her. He just smiled, gentler than ever, and said, “Dear girl, the first step to receiving answers is being brave enough to ask the questions. Doubt can only be removed by action.”

* * *

“Hello, darling,” Jennifer Granger beamed, enveloping Hermione in a tight hug at the front door. “Have I got my days muddled? Wasn’t it next Saturday you were coming for dinner?”

“Hello, Mum,” Hermione smiled, and squeezed her tight. “It is, but I just fancied a visit. Sorry I didn’t call ahead first.”

“Oh, don’t be daft. You don’t need to tell me when you’re coming over.” Jennifer ushered Hermione into the house. “Just you today, love?” 

It didn’t escape Hermione’s notice that her mother, out of what was clearly a long-standing habit, had glanced over her shoulder, obviously expecting to see Bellatrix. 

“Bellatrix is busy today,” Hermione told her. “And Cyg’s at Quidditch practice.”

It wasn’t a lie. Harry had dropped off some things from work that morning that he’d wanted Bellatrix’s opinion on, and although the dark witch was technically still on leave, she’d agreed to help him, albeit a little grudgingly. 

“Ah, so I have you all to myself for the afternoon, hm?” Jennifer smiled as they walked arm in arm down the long hall towards the kitchen. “What have you been up to today?”

“I was at the hospital,” Hermione told her. “I had my first appointment with the specialist.”

“God, was that today?” Jennifer gave her a concerned look. “Did Bella go with you?”

“I told her to stay home and catch up on work,” Hermione told her, and patted her mother’s arm reassuringly. “I was fine on my own though. Thaddeus was really nice. We just did some brain training and chatted a little.”

“And?” Jennifer prompted. “What did he say?”

“He said I’m doing well,” Hermione smiled. “Considering the extent of my injury. But he did warn me that...” She swallowed thickly. “That my memories might be lost permanently though.”

Jennifer gave her a sympathetic look as she pulled mugs from the cupboard and flicked the switch on the kettle. “Oh, darling, we all knew that could be a possibility,” she said sadly. 

“I know,” Hermione sighed. “I’m remembering more new things every day though. I’m trying to stay positive.”

“One day at a time, Hermione,” Jennifer reminded her. “Be a love and grab the milk, would you?”

While Jennifer made the tea, Hermione perched on a stool at the breakfast bar and glanced around the kitchen. The last time she remembered being in her childhood home was the day she’d erased her parents’ memories before sending them off to Australia and embarking on a year long Horcrux hunt with Harry and Ron. She was pleased to see that nothing much had changed during the eight years she’d lost though. 

The photographs hanging in the hall were still there, albeit most of the pictures of her had been replaced with ones of Cygnus; the floor was still an old-fashioned parquet, all warm homey browns; and her mothers’ favourite antique teapots still stood proudly on the kitchen shelves. Even the wooden swing in the garden where she used to spend hours reading as a child was still there. 

This house held so many happy memories of her wonderful childhood and loving family. Yet she couldn’t help but feel the void that had been left with her fathers’ absence, and she was glad when the tea was ready, and they ventured through to the conservatory with their mugs and a plate of Jaffa Cakes. The pile of books stacked on the coffee table caught her attention and quickly restored her equilibrium, and she listened with rapt attention as her mother told her about the latest crime thriller she was currently enthralled.

“It’s a bit gruesome at times but I can’t seem to put it down,” Jennifer laughed, sipping her tea. “I think Bella would enjoy it.”

“Mm, maybe,” Hermione hummed as she browsed through the stack of books. 

“Tell her she can borrow it when I’m finished with it, if she likes,” Jennifer went on. “I know she enjoyed all my old Stephen King—“

“Mum?” Hermione said, holding up one particular book she’d spotted at the bottom of the pile. “What’s this?”

Jennifer’s brown eyes widened, and she hurried to pluck the book out of her hands before she could fully open it. 

Alarmed, Hermione said, “Mum?”

“It’s yours,” Jennifer told her carefully, clutching the book to her chest. “Bella left it here. She didn’t want you to see it in case...in case it upset you.”

Hermione took a shuddering breath. “What is it?”

There was a tense few seconds of silence before Jennifer took a deep breath, and sadly said, “An album. Photos, from your engagement party.”

“Mum—“

“You don’t need to look at them, darling,” Jennifer said softly. “I’ll put them away. I’m so sorry.”

“Mum, wait!” Hermione said quickly, stopping her mother with a gentle hand on her arm as she made to leave the conservatory. Curiosity burned through her, and before she could stop herself, she murmured, “I’d...I’d like to see them. Please.”

“Oh, darling, I don’t know if—“

“Mum, how am I supposed to return to my old life if I don’t know anything about it?”

Jennifer’s eyes glimmered hesitantly for a few moments, then she nodded slowly, and handed Hermione the album. 

Hermione carefully carried the album over to the couch and sat down. “Can we look together?” she asked quietly, and patted the space beside her. 

“Of course,” Jennifer murmured, and settled on the couch next to her. 

Hermione lay the album on her lap and skimmed her palms over the cover. It was beautifully made; simple yet elegant, and wrapped in pristine white leather.

Hesitantly, she took a deep breath and turned to the first page. 

The first picture was of her and Bellatrix, both of them holding out their hands to show off their engagement rings. Bellatrix’s eyes lingered on her as she beamed a thousand watt smile. They looked so blissfully happy that she nearly slammed the album closed again. 

_I’m scared_

Scared of what, though? To see how happy Bellatrix made her? To see how much her family and friends seemed to love this woman? She tried to remind herself that all these little bursts of fear weren’t new, but they seemed to debilitate her in a way she couldn’t explain. And yes, she was terrified, but she wanted to know the story behind her and Bellatrix, she needed to know everything. 

So she turned the page. 

But the next photograph shot an arrow straight through her heart. 

Her father smiled back at her in his best shirt and tie, sandwiched between her and Bellatrix, his arms wrapped around both their waists. Hermione tilted her head, wondering how the first meeting between Bellatrix and her parents had been. Weirdly, in some kind of twisted fantasy, she imagined Bellatrix with an adorable nervous expression etched on her face, trying her best to impress her Muggle parents.

It made her smile for a moment, but she only ended up feeling frustrated because she couldn’t remember. She’d bore witness to the close friendship between her mother and the dark witch over the last few weeks, but she was still intrigued by the concept and wondered what her father had thought of her. 

“Were they close?” Hermione murmured, trying to fight the sudden onslaught of tears. “Bellatrix and Dad, were they...did they...”

“Oh, yes,” Jennifer said with a soft smile. “Dad liked her very much. They used to play wizard chess together. He was always so fascinated by the way the pieces moved on their own...” 

Her mother trailed off with a hitched breath, and Hermione was certain she was fighting back her own tears. Her father’s death was a topic she’d purposely tried to avoid since her mother had broke the news to her in the hospital. 

“Do you...” Jennifer faltered, giving her a careful look. “Do you remember anything at all about...”

“No.” Hermione shook her head and scrubbed at her eyes with her sleeve. “But I’ve had flashes of things, like deja vu, and...honestly, Mum, I’m just finding it hard to decipher what’s real and what’s not right now.”

“You were there,” Jennifer told her quietly. 

“I was where?” Hermione asked, puzzled. 

“You saw him die. It was a Sunday, he—“

“Collapsed,” Hermione interrupted.

“Yes, do you remember?”

“I don’t know. Somethings just...niggling. It was cold.”

“It was back in February. You were helping him plant his bulbs in time for Spring.”

“I remember the feeling,” Hermione whispered. “This panicky, nightmarish feeling. It’s happened two or three times now.”

Hermione wondered if those feelings would go away now that she knew what they meant. She didn’t know if she wanted to remember her father dropping dead right in front of her. 

“I’m sorry, love,” Jennifer said. She gestured to the photo album. “Maybe we should—“

“No,” Hermione looked up, a single tear sliding down her cheek. “I want to.”

Jennifer just nodded, and together they looked through the rest of the photographs. It was a strange feeling, staring down at her past self, the poor girl that had no idea what was coming to her as she danced and laughed and drank champagne with her friends and family.

The very last photograph had obviously been taken towards the very end of the party. She was sitting around a table with Bellatrix and her sisters, all four of them adorably hammered. Andromeda had her arm draped around her neck, Narcissa was pressing a sloppy kiss to her cheek, and Bellatrix was twirling a cocktail umbrella between her teeth. They were all in hysterics, and for a very brief moment, Hermione was sure she heard their laughter ringing in her ears. 

It seemed so cruel to have completely forgotten absolutely everything about that night, but even through the tears that still slid slowly down her face, she couldn’t help but smile as she gazed down at what looked like a bloody marvellous engagement party. 

She knew Bellatrix loved her. She knew it by the way they touched and kissed and looked at each other with adoration in their eyes in the photographs. She knew it by the way the electric energy seemed to bounce between them that day in the kitchen, the day she’d had to try oh so very hard not to lean in and press their lips together. She knew it by the way Bellatrix acted around her friends and family, by the way they all seemed to have grown together since the War. 

And she suddenly realised just how integral Bellatrix Lestrange seemed to be in her life. 

With an aching heart and hands that trembled ever so slightly, she flipped the album closed and pushed it onto the coffee table next to her mug of cold tea. 

“Did you have any plans for dinner?”

Her mother’s voice startled her from her tumultuous thoughts, and she looked up.

“I don’t think so.”

“Would you like to stay?” Jennifer asked hopefully. 

Hermione smiled. “That would be nice, Mum.”

Jennifer looked delighted and patted her leg as rose from the couch. “Why don’t you give Bella a call and I’ll see what I can rustle up?”

“Alright.”

She glanced at the clock as her mother disappeared into the kitchen. It was after three and Bellatrix should be collecting Cygnus from Quidditch practice right about now, so she un-sleeved her wand and prepared to cast her Patronus. She hadn’t really performed any spells more powerful than the odd summoning charm since she’d come home from the hospital, so she wasn’t immediately alarmed when her otter didn’t appear on her first attempt.

When she still couldn’t conjure anything more than a few wisps of silvery smoke after her second and third attempt, she growled in frustration. 

The spell wasn’t working. Of course it wasn’t. Patronuses needed happy memories. And she wondered perhaps if the last few hours talking about her father and flicking through the album had been more draining on her mental state than she’d first thought. 

She tried to focus hard on the day she’d received her Hogwarts letter. That usually did the trick. But all she could seem to remember was the fear and apprehension on her parents’ faces. Funny, because she’d never really noticed that before. 

Another small spark, then it fizzled and died. 

She thought about the first time she’d met Cygnus instead, tried hard to focus on his elated blue gaze and the cute little dimple in his cheek. But a moment later her mind began to play tricks on her and the image of the Cygnus in her nightmares flitted through her mind. 

Another brief flare from her wand, but again, her otter didn’t appear. 

She tried to think about her father, mowing the grass in his khaki shorts, waking both her and her mother up at some ungodly hour during the summers she spent at home when she wasn’t at Hogwarts. But the pain and loss that came with those memories made her choke back another sob. 

One last try. 

_She snagged a roast potato off of Bellatrix’s plate as they ate Sunday dinner at the kitchen table, and she pushed all of her parsnips to the edge of her plate so Bellatrix could help herself, and neither of them needed to say a word because they just understood each other_.

Her otter flared to life immediately - thank heavens, thank Merlin, thank everything - and she laughed. 

The Patronus swirled to life before her, awaiting the message it would carry to Bellatrix. Surely all was not lost. Then she stopped laughing abruptly, and she blinked in confusion. Her Patronus hadn’t manifested as her playful little otter. Perched before her on the coffee table, sleek feathered and sharp beaked, was what very much looked like a crow. 

“Of course it’s a bloody crow,” Hermione giggled, feeling the small ember of hope that ignited in her heart. 

The bird tilted its head, shimmering eyes glinting with a haughty sort of playfulness she found all too familiar. 

“Bellatrix, Mum’s making dinner,” she said clearly. “Join us when you’ve picked Cyg up from practice.”

She waved her wand and the crow offered her a hoarse _craw_ , before soaring out of the conservatory door and dissipating into whatever magical dimension Patronuses tended to travel in. 

Hermione’s smile was blinding. 

Who would’ve thought that a tiny little crow was all it would take to dispel the darkness of doubt?


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Against all odds, I’m posting on time! A little bit of everything in this chapter, I hope you enjoy! :D 
> 
> I own nothing. All mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

_“GRANGER, MOVE!”_

_It happened so fast._

_Hermione felt the ground slip from beneath her feet as she was suddenly thrust aside. A flash of red light sliced through the air, soaring over her shoulder, and the last thing she saw before falling hard against the cobbles, was the wide-eyed, shocked look on Rodolphus’ face as he staggered backwards._

_White spots exploded behind her eyes as she hit the ground. Something wet splattered over her face. The air crackled and the ground shook with a force that felt like a bomb had just gone off. There were shouts and screams and panic all around her._

_Slowly, her vision cleared, and the world around her regained colour._

_Hermione wished it hadn’t._

_Everything was red and it took her a few moments to realise why._

_Blood._

_Rodolphus’ blood._

_All over the cobblestones. All over her clothes. All over her hands. All over her face. In her hair. In her mouth. In her eyes._

_Bellatrix was running towards him before Hermione even had a chance to properly process what had happened._

_“Rodolphus!” Bellatrix screamed, and fell to her knees beside his broken body._

_Hermione pushed herself up onto her elbows and looked at him as Bellatrix’s hands fluttered around him in panic. She saw his open chest - bone, muscle, beating heart, and blood. So much blood. His face was in shreds, there was a gaping hole in his jaw, his tongue and teeth could be seen through the ripped flesh._

_“Help!” Bellatrix screamed, half hysterical. “Someone fucking help me!”_

_The dark witch whipped off her cloak and pressed it to the open wound in her husband’s chest to try and staunch the flow of blood, but the cloak and her red, blistered hands were soaked in seconds._

_She could hear Harry and Ron’s distant shouts as they thundered across the courtyard towards her. Andromeda appeared out of nowhere and dropped to her knees beside her sister. Blood spurted out of Rodolphus’ chest with every pump of his heart like a high pressure hose. It sprayed out his body in an arc, splattering over Bellatrix’s face._

_“No, no, no,” she screamed._

_“Belle...” Rodolphus said, teeth chattering._

_He was shaking violently, pink bubbles frothed at the corner of his mouth. He made a gurgling sound as he tried to speak. Andromeda was frantically waving her wand over Rodolphus’ body, muttering healing charms and trying to knit his torn flesh back together. But blood was gushing from his body faster than she could close his wound._

_Hermione began to cry. If she hadn’t already been on the ground then she was sure her legs would’ve buckled. She sobbed so hard that the chaos began to blur around her._

_“Dolohov!” someone yelled. “It was Dolohov.”_

_Another cried, “After him, he’s heading for the forest!”_

_Rodolphus started vomiting more blood, his eyes wide with terror and shock as he realised what was happening to him. Bellatrix had given up trying to stop the blood seeping out of his wound now. The fountain had slowed to a trickle, testament to how quickly he was loosing blood. His white shirt was saturated, there was a dark red puddle under him, soaking the cobble stones, becoming bigger and bigger until Hermione was almost sitting in it. She shuffled backwards until her back hit something solid, and two strong arms hauled her to her feet. Ron held her against his chest, tried to pull her away. But she pushed at his chest._

_Bellatrix wrapped her blood soaked hands around her husbands face, turned his head so he was looking up at her. She pressed her lips to his face; kissed his nose, his jaw, his trembling mouth._

_“It’s alright,” she said, chin trembling. “It’s alright. Look at me.”_

_Hermione just stared, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Andromeda had given up, her expression grim, knees soaked in blood. Rodolphus choked again, a trembling hand clawed at Bellatrix’s shoulder, fingers tangled in her hair. Hermione knew now, there was no saving him. Bellatrix had lost the hysterical edge to her voice, speaking to him now in soft murmurs._

_“Oh, Rod...oh, my love...” she said, threading her fingers through his greying hair. His jaw was working, like he was trying to formulate words around the blood in his throat. She stroked a thumb over his cheek. “Shh, shh.”_

_“Belle,” he said again, and his eyelids drooped._

_His body wasn’t shaking so much now. His breathing shallow. Hermione could see the life in his eyes fade away._

_“Don’t leave me,” Bellatrix pleaded. “Oh, fuck, Rod, please don’t leave me.”_

_“Belle...”_

_“No, Rod,” she begged. “I love you. I love you.” She kissed him again, his blood staining her lips. “I fucking love you.”_

_“Belle...” Blood gurgled in his throat.“Belle...I...”_

_His hand fell away from her shoulder, landing by his side with a dull thud._

_And then he was gone._

_“Rod!” Bellatrix cried, keening like a child. “Roddy!”_

_The dark witch leaned forwards, murmuring against her husband’s brow. Tears were running tracks through the grime on her face, and then a terrible cry tore from her throat, hoarse and furious._

_“Bella,” Andromeda said, and wrestled her sister against her chest. “Come away.”_

_Bellatrix fought for only a moment, but the fight quickly left her, and she cried her heart out against Andromeda’s neck._

Hermione woke with a start and pushed herself back against the headboard, drawing her knees up to her chest as the last horrifying remnants of the dream accelerated through her brain like a carousel spinning out of control. 

She wanted the images to leave so she could breathe again, but they wouldn’t. Her ribs heaved as if bound by invisible ropes, straining to draw breath into her lungs.

_Another nightmare. Just another fucking nightmare_

Yet this one felt real. So real she could still taste the coppery tang of blood on her tongue and smell the acrid scent of spell fire burning her nostrils. Her arm shot out and it thumped against the empty pillow on the other half of the bed. 

For some reason that only seemed to make the panic worse. 

Quickly, she flicked the lamp on and glanced around the bedroom. Everything was as she’d left it before she’d went to sleep. Her book was still lying on the bedside table, her dressing gown was still hanging on the back of the door, and Rex was still lying at the bottom of the bed - awake now, and looking at her with bleary, brown eyes. She dragged her hands down her face, feeling the sweat on her cheeks and damp tendrils of hair plastered to her forehead. 

_Alright, ‘Mione_ , she thought. _Calm yourself. Just calm_...

She sucked in a breath, tried to regulate her breathing again, but found her whole body wracked with raw sobs instead. Terror consumed every cell in her body, swelling them with a feeling of gut-wrenching fear. Part of her wanted to run next door and check on Bellatrix, but the other part of her knew there was no reason to disturb her this late. 

She tried to focus on the nice dinner they’d shared just a few hours ago; Cygnus’ ecstatic retelling of the goal he’d scored at Quidditch practice, and Bellatrix’s polite yet ferocious fight with her mother over the last slice of garlic bread. But the image of Rodolphus Lestrange’s bloody, shredded face wouldn’t leave her mind. She was just about on the verge of hyperventilating when she suddenly felt a wet lick on her elbow. 

Dropping her trembling hands into her lap, she looked into Rex’s soft, brown eyes. The little dog nudged her fingers with his wet nose and started pawing at her thigh. She exhaled a shaky breath at the affectionate contact and reached out to stroke his pointy ears, resuming the motion for several minutes until he’d all but wriggled into her lap. 

“I’m beginning to think you’re some sort of emotional support dog,” she murmured, once she realised she could breathe again. “Fancy a cup of tea?”

Rex’s tail thumped a few times against the bed.

* * *

Bellatrix sat in the darkened living room, cross-legged on the couch with a tartan throw around her shoulders, and a tub of Fortescue’s Best Butterscotch ice cream in her lap. She was so engrossed with whatever she was watching on the television that she didn’t even notice when Hermione sidled into the room behind her. 

“You’re gonna get it, love,” Bellatrix murmured around a mouthful of ice cream. “Just wait and see.”

And sure enough, when Hermione glanced at the television, the nurse that was crossing the darkened hospital car park was suddenly accosted by the man that stepped out of the shadows, and was whacked around the head with a wheel brace. 

“Game over, Sharon,” Bellatrix scoffed, shaking her head. 

Curious, Hermione asked, “What’re you watching?”

Bellatrix shrieked, and before Hermione could even blink, the dark witch tomahawked her spoon at her. 

“What the hell!” Hermione snapped, staggering backwards a few steps as she rubbed vigorously at her nose.

At the sound of her voice, Bellatrix visibly relaxed. 

“You nearly gave me a bloody heart attack!” Bellatrix gasped, clutching her ice cream to her chest. “What’re you doing creeping around in the middle of the night?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Hermione shot back. 

Bellatrix scowled at her. “I’m not the one creeping,” she argued, holding her hand out. “Give me my spoon.”

“You mean the deadly weapon you tried to decapitate me with?” Hermione deadpanned, tossing the spoon at her. 

“Oh, please!” Bellatrix reached over the back of the couch and swatted her arm. “I thought someone had broke in to rob and kill me.” Then she laughed a little. “Or kidnap me and hold me to ransom.”

“Trust me, they’d’ve gave you back.”

The dark witch rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up, you!”

“Isn’t it a little early for breakfast?” Hermione asked, and jerked her chin at the tub of ice cream. 

“Meal times are a social construct,” Bellatrix said, shoving another spoonful of frozen goodness into her mouth. 

Hermione just looked at her. “Sometimes I wonder about your life choices.”

The dark witch just shrugged and laughed. “Why’re you up so early anyway?”

Bellatrix’s words provoked a wave of nausea and a chilling flashback of her dream. So much so that she visibly shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. “I - I couldn’t sleep,” she said quietly. 

“Another nightmare?” Bellatrix asked, sounding sympathetic.

Hermione blinked at her in surprise.

“I sleep next door, love. The walls are thin.”

Hermione nodded meekly, blushing a little, and climbed over the back of the couch to sit beside her. “Anyway,” she quickly changed the subject. “You didn’t just come down here at daft o’clock for ice cream, did you?”

“No.” Bellatrix’s face was completely deadpan. “I’m an immortal vampire. I don’t need sleep.”

Hermione laughed at that. “That would be a lot more convincing if you hadn’t been comatose on the couch the other day.”

Bellatrix cocked her head, and grinned, “Fine. I just came to raid the freezer.” Then she nodded at the television where a man in a rumpled beige raincoat was now shuffling across the screen. “And all the best Columbo reruns are on at this time.”

Hermione sniggered. “Columbo?”

“Scruffy little detective with a glass eye,” Bellatrix explained, gesturing vaguely at the television. “The bumbling Muggle version of Moody.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

They sat in companionable silence for several minutes, the ice cream forgotten in Bellatrix’s lap as they both watched the television without really seeing it. But ever the keen eye, it didn’t take Bellatrix long to notice when her mood dropped, and quite suddenly, she asked, “Do you want to talk about it? Your dream.” 

“I don’t know,” Hermione admitted softly, biting her lip. Then she immediately remembered the flirtatious comment Bellatrix had made in the garden a few weeks ago and quickly settled on pulling anxiously at her fingers instead. “I...don’t really see how you could help, to be honest.”

Even in the darkness of the room, Hermione caught the briefest flicker of hurt in the dark witch’s eyes, and she instantly wished she could take her words back.

Bellatrix just hummed. “Well, I’m sorry you feel that way,” she murmured, her tone saddened but sincere. “I used to be the first person you came to in a crisis.”

Her words stung more than Hermione would’ve ever expected. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean—“

“Don’t worry about it,” Bellatrix cut in bluntly, and shoved another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. 

More silence filled the void where before playful banter had been. It was stilted, and Hermione couldn’t find any calm in it. Through the corner of her eye, she watched Bellatrix. The playful sparkle in her eyes had dulled as she stabbed absently at her ice cream with her spoon. And Hermione didn’t like that she’d been the one to dull that sparkle. Because Bellatrix was only trying to help, and she’d pushed her away again. 

And she didn’t want to push her away anymore. 

So she quashed the tears she felt welling at the corners of her eyes, and plunged in. 

“I - I was dreaming about...your husband,” Hermione told her softly. Bellatrix turned to her slowly but didn’t say anything. “He was...hurt quite badly.”

Gently, hesitantly, Bellatrix reached out and squeezed her hand. Hermione’s breath hitched, but the feeling of the older woman’s touch was all it took for her to unravel, and she slumped against Bellatrix, a hiccuped cry bubbling from her throat. 

It hurt. 

It hurt crying over something she couldn’t remember anything about. It hurt crying over a man she didn’t even know. It hurt more doing it in front of Bellatrix. And an unimaginable feeling of grief blossoming in her chest, filling her to her bones until she was a blubbering mess. 

Bellatrix didn’t seem to mind her sniffles. She just set her ice cream aside and wrapped her arms around her, letting her cry against her chest - and that was all Hermione needed; someone to hold her tight. But when Bellatrix still didn’t say anything, she feared that she’d upset her, and that made her cry all the more. 

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, love, whatever for?”

“For - for mentioning R-Rodolphus. I - I mean it was just a nightmare, right? I didn’t think, and I’m sorry.”

“Rod and I were a long time ago, darling,” Bellatrix murmured. “I’m over it.”

Bellatrix’s somber tone told Hermione she was far from over it though, and a fresh wave of sobs wracked her whole body. But before she could be totally consumed by her own grief, Bellatrix’s slender hands were cupping her wet cheeks and drawing her face towards hers.

The older woman pressed her lips against her forehead; her cheeks, her nose, her eyelids, and, finally her mouth. But before Hermione could even properly comprehend the feeling of the dark witch’s lips against hers, they were gone again but a second later, and she pressed their foreheads together instead. 

“I’m no stranger to nightmares, dove,” Bellatrix murmured, and Hermione’s lips tingled when the dark witch’s warm, sweet breath whispered over her face. “I’ve had that one many times, but I don’t let it get to me anymore.”

“It’s real?” Hermione breathed. “It - it actually happened?”

“It’s real,” Bellatrix told her, drawing back a little to gaze into her eyes. “Rod died a terrible death. It haunted me for a long time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry. I told you, I’m over it.”

“So was tonight...”

“Yes, tonight was one of those nightmares for me too.”

That admission alone was enough to break Hermione’s heart all over again, and while it was a comfort to relate to someone in all this mess, that didn’t mean that Bellatrix’s nightmares were a good thing, and if it would’ve spared the dark witch some pain, Hermione would’ve preferred not to have anything to relate to at all. 

“You’re ok,” was all Hermione could think to say. “I - I’m here now.”

Bellatrix tangled her fingers in Hermione’s long brown hair, and replied, “I’m here too.” Then her hand tightened, and Hermione could clearly hear her own heart beating in her ears. “I’m always going to be here, Hermione.”

The moment held for an impossibly long moment, just holding each other as they tried to recover from their own private horrors. And Hermione didn’t know why she’d kept her terror about her nightmares to herself for so long when she didn’t have to. 

“Do you think you’ll manage to sleep again?” Bellatrix finally asked. 

Honestly, Hermione replied, “I’m not really sure.” And it was true, because while she did feel much safer and more comfortable knowing she was with Bellatrix, her closeness with the dark witch didn’t completely erase the dread that was swirling low in her belly, the dread that always came with nightmares that she knew would return the moment she closed her eyes again. 

“I’m not sure I could sleep either,” Bellatrix admitted softly. 

“I could make us some tea?” Hermione offered. “That’s the whole reason I came down here.”

Bellatrix grinned wickedly at that. “Oh, Hermione, I have something much better than tea.” She reached for the ice cream again and playfully waved the carton in her face. Then she scooped up a spoonful of the sweet, frozen dessert, and said, “Open wide.”

Hermione leaned forwards without hesitation, and closed her mouth around Bellatrix’s spoon. Almost immediately, her eyes fluttered closed as the taste of butter and caramel assaulted her taste buds, and she couldn’t help the little moan of delight that reverberated in her throat. When she looked at Bellatrix again, the dark witch’s eyes were hooded and dark, and she nearly gasped at the look of naked arousal on her face. 

“What’s the verdict?” Bellatrix asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Better than tea?”

“Better than sex,” Hermione whispered back, which was almost funny because she couldn’t remember having sex. Ever. 

Bellatrix laughed at that, it was a throaty sound laced with a smokiness that shot a spear of something pleasant right down Hermione’s spine. “Oh, darling,” she said, smiling a Cheshire grin. “If you could remember the sex we’ve had you wouldn’t be saying that.”

Hermione’s entire face turned to flame, and she suddenly felt embarrassed, coy, and aroused all at once. Bellatrix just looked at her, allowing her time to compose herself, her shit-eating grin growing ever wider until Hermione couldn’t help but notice the dimple in her left cheek. Now she knew where Cygnus got it from, but while her son’s dimple enhanced his cuteness, Bellatrix’s dimple was by far the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. 

Bellatrix giggled girlishly and reached out to tap the end of Hermione’s chin with a slender finger. “Pick your jaw up, sugar. You look like a trout.”

Hermione somehow managed to snap her mouth closed, but she was still too stunned to even speak. Bellatrix was still grinning expectantly at her, which made her blush all the more, but when the silence between them threatened to stretch into something she wasn’t entirely sure she was prepared for right now, she cleared her throat awkwardly, and rose shakily from the couch. 

“I guess I should...ah, go back to bed and try to—“

“You don’t have to,” Bellatrix said, and her hand shot out to wrap around her hand, thumb stroking over the delicate bone in her wrist. 

“No?” Hermione cocked a brow. Then before she could fully stop herself, she added, “Is there something worth hanging around for?”

Bellatrix’s grin grew impossibly wide, and she gently tugged on Hermione’s wrist, pulling her back onto the couch. Hermione stumbled a little on the way down and ended up pressed flush against Bellatrix’s side. 

Bellatrix pushed her body impossibly closer, and whispered into her hair, “Road House is starting on Film4 in a bit if you fancy watching it with me?”

“I don’t know what that is,” Hermione murmured, flustered and a little breathless.

“It’s pure cringe-worthy 80’s action at its best, darling.”

“I don’t think—“

“Also there’s Patrick Swayze.”

“Oh, well, in that case...”

Bellatrix beamed and wrapped her arm around Hermione’s shoulders, drawing her ever closer against her side. Hermione let her, and they sat, close and warm under the tartan throw with the ice cream balanced between them. 

And in the dark witch’s embrace, she quickly forgot about her demons. She forgot about the memories that hurt and scared her. She forgot about her pain and her sorrow. 

For just a moment, she forgot about everything, but Bellatrix Black.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it’s a bit late guys, but work and life has been manic! And I still have shit loads of presents to wrap!! 
> 
> A little bit of everything again in this chapter, also slight TRIGGER WARNING for mentions of Bella’s miscarriage, but nothing as heavy as Chapter 15. 
> 
> Also, forgot to mention previously that December 8th marked a whole year since I uploaded ‘Stay’ - my first ever fic and first ever Bellamione! So thank you all for the love, comments and support over the last year, and thank you to all the new Bellamione friends I’ve made! 
> 
> I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas, however you choose to spend it! Merry Christmas/Happy Holiday etc etc from me in little old Scotland who will be heading straight into strict lockdown on Boxing Day 😂
> 
> I own nothing. All mistakes are my own. Enjoy!
> 
> Rube <3 x

_Coffee_

The spicy aroma of Bellatrix’s favourite dark roast bemused her senses alluringly. It lingered in her thoughts, surrounded her conscience in a heady rush, and promoted her to unconsciously seek it out. 

_Cedar_

A light, woody fragrance mixed with the robust smell of coffee beans. Leaning into it gifted her body with a pleasant warmth, and the scent caressed her whole body gently. 

_Vanilla_

The sweet scent of vanilla was the last thing to assault her senses. It was almost...sensual, intoxicating even, sheathing her in a cocoon of lethargy, and she buried her face against the softness beneath her cheek. 

The faint dredges of sleep still lingered along the edges of her subconscious, beckoning her back down into a peaceful slumber. She could’ve easily fallen back asleep, but the next thing Hermione knew, she was blinking her eyes open, and blearily taking in her surroundings. 

For a moment she didn’t know where she was, and then the familiar view of the Gryffindor room came into focus. And then her jumbled thoughts suddenly came to a screeching halt when she became aware of the warm weight pressed into her back and the warm breath tickling her ear, and it suddenly hit home that she’d fallen asleep on the couch with Bellatrix. 

She remembered that at some point during the night they’d finished the ice cream and repositioned themselves to watch the remainder of the film, and the last thing she could clearly recall before sleep had claimed her was the way she’d been half sprawled across Bellatrix with her head tucked under the dark witch’s chin and her arm curled around her thin waist. 

Part of her wanted to be embarrassed by the fact that she’d obviously fallen asleep on Bellatrix’s (very comfortable) breasts, but if she were being completely honest with herself, she didn’t think she’d slept so well in weeks. And really, after they’d gotten comfortable and Bellatrix had snaked her arm around her back to pull her in closer and fiddle with the ends of her hair, it had never once crossed her mind how awkward their closeness would’ve made her feel a few weeks ago.

It was just...the whole thing had felt completely natural. 

Yet she felt completely awkward now, knowing that Bellatrix had somehow wriggled behind her during the night, and her warm breath was now caressing her ear. Then the rest of last night sprang to the forefront of her mind, and the memory of her crying all over Bellatrix made her face heat just as much as the memory of Bellatrix kissing her did. 

Although, to be fair, she didn’t think Bellatrix had been entirely aware of what she’d been doing, and the dark witch had obviously just held her and comforted her the same way she usually would’ve in times of woe. But still, as close as they’d been last night, Hermione most definitely didn’t want to still be lying there when Bellatrix woke up. So she began to ease herself out from under the throw, but it was only when her knees landed on the carpet and a decidedly un-Bellatrix like whine met her ears, that her head finally snapped around.

“Oh, it’s you!” she giggled, feeling relieved and disappointed in equal measures that it hadn’t been Bellatrix who’d been spooning her. 

Rex stared back at her with bleary brown eyes, looking more than a little miffed that his sleeping companion had disturbed his slumber. 

“Sorry, handsome,” she said, ruffling his pointy ears. “I’d sleep the day away with you if I could but maybe you should get down before the Lady of the manor catches you, hm?”

Rex wasn’t allowed on the furniture, and he bloody well knew it, so his sheepish expression and hopeful thumping tail was an obvious plea for silence.

“I didn’t see a thing,” Hermione whispered, and left in search of a mug of Bellatrix’s delicious coffee. 

She could hear Bellatrix singing to herself as she walked down the hall, and she found the idea intriguing enough to peek around the kitchen door. 

Hermione gulped. 

Had Bellatrix been wearing that last night? 

The dark witch was sleep mussed, with pyjama shorts so short it was almost criminal, and a baggy t-shirt that hung off one shoulder. She was swaying her hips from side to side, dancing around the kitchen as she sang. 

“Takes to the sky like a bird in flight, and who will be her lover...”

Hermione unconsciously licked her lips. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anything so adorable or so sexy in her entire life...even if Bellatrix’s singing was atrocious. 

“All your life you've never seen woman taken by the wind...would you stay if she promised you heaven...” Bellatrix trailed off as she did a little pirouette on the kitchen tile in her socks, and her dark gaze came to rest on Hermione standing by the door. 

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” Hermione giggled, barely able to contain her smirk. 

Bellatrix’s lips twisted into a wicked grin as she sashayed across the kitchen towards her. Hermione backtracked a little, immediately realising Bellatrix’s intentions. But before she could make her escape, the dark witch snaked her arms around her neck. 

“Dance with me, luvvy,” she husked in her ear, and Hermione shuddered as goosebumps erupted all over her skin. 

“I don’t dance—“ Hermione tried to protest, but she was cut off when Bellatrix grabbed her by the wrists and placed her hands on her waist. She could feel sharp hipbones through the cotton material of Bellatrix’s shorts, and was almost thankful when her dry mouth filled with saliva. 

“Of course you do,” Bellatrix laughed, curling her arms back around Hermione’s neck once more. “You dance almost as bad as I sing. We’re the perfect match, darling.”

And just like that, another memory raced through her mind. 

_”You need to shake that arse a bit more of you want to dance, love.”_

_People bumped into them at all sides, pushing them closer together. Bellatrix pushed their hips together, swaying and grinding to the beat. Hermione did her best to follow. It was the single most arousing experience of her life._

_She’d never danced like this with Ron. When they danced, his movements were jerky and awkward. When Bellatrix danced, it was fluid and smooth, and completely erotic._

_Feeling bold, Hermione slid her hands over Bellatrix’s hips and around. And the dark witch’s eyes widened in exhilaration when Hermione grabbed her arse, pulling her closer._

_“That’s more like it, dearie,” Bellatrix growled throatily, licking the shell of her ear before sucking the lobe into her mouth, dragging her teeth along the soft flesh._

Hermione blushed as the memory vanished just as quickly as it appeared, but her embarrassment didn’t stop her from skimming her hands around Bellatrix’s hips to palm at her arse the same way she’d done in the memory.

The way Bellatrix’s eyes darkened was so subtle she almost missed it, but it made heat spear right down her spine into her belly. Her reaction didn’t go unnoticed by the dark witch, and Bellatrix flashed pearly white teeth in an almost predatory grin.

 _Merlin’s bollocks, what the hell is happening here_?

Hermione felt all the blood rush to her head as they danced, a little less provocatively than her steamy recollection, but still with a closeness and familiarity that she found inexplicably arousing. All too soon though, the raspy sound of Stevie Nicks’ vocal cords tapered off into the nasally sound of the radio presenter discussing the weather forecast, and their flirty movements slowed to a gentle sway. 

“I didn’t know you were a Fleetwood fan,” Hermione murmured, at a loss for what else to say.

Bellatrix grinned. “Who isn’t?”

Time seemed to slow as they swayed together, and Hermione wasn’t entirely prepared when Bellatrix leaned in close enough to whisper her lips against hers in a chaste kiss. Yet it was barely a kiss at all, the feeling somewhat akin to what Hermione imagined it would feel like if a feather were to caress her skin. 

Heart hammering in her chest, Hermione felt her eyelids flutter shut of their own accord as Bellatrix repeated the action. The softness of the other woman’s lips grazing her own, even if they were barely touching at all, seemed to leave an invisible scorch on her mouth that Hermione didn’t ever want to erase. 

But Bellatrix didn’t push any further. Almost as if she was waiting for her approval. Approval to close the gap between them. Approval Hermione was tempted to give. 

Until their seven year old decided to join them. 

“Ewww!” Cygnus cried, and they lunged apart like they’d both just spontaneously combusted. “Were you - are you kissing!”

“We were not!” Hermione insisted, just as Bellatrix shot back, “So what if we were?”

With a look of disgust etched into his little face, Cygnus asked, “Aren’t you too old to be doing stuff like that?”

“Cyg!” Hermione warned, just as Bellatrix growled, “Excuse me! Who do you think you’re calling old!”

Unfazed, Cygnus cackled with childish glee, and began making very loud, very obnoxious gagging sounds. 

“Oh, hush, you!” Hermione giggled, just as Bellatrix snapped, “Behave, you little shit!”

But Cygnus carried on, unbidden, squashing his fists into his cheeks until he looked like a fish, and started making exaggerated kissy faces. 

Hermione was laughing helplessly now, and Bellatrix tossed a dish towel at him. “Stop that, or I’ll tell Uncle Alec you’re not going to the cinema with him and Teddy, and I’ll take you to granny Black’s with me instead.” 

Cygnus’ eyes widened in horror, and he gasped, “You wouldn’t do that!”

“Try me,” Bellatrix dared. 

“I’ll be good, I promise!” he quickly assured her. 

Hermione didn’t blame him. The threat of Druella Black was enough to make anyone behave themselves. 

“You better,” Bellatrix warned, fixing him with stern glare. “Go get dressed, I’ll make you breakfast.”

The moment he raced upstairs, Hermione half expected Bellatrix to take her in her arms again and finish what they’d started. She tried to tell herself she wasn’t disappointed when the dark witch crossed the kitchen instead, and pulled out a bowl and a box of Cheeri-Owls. 

“Did you sleep well?” Bellatrix asked casually, almost as if the almost-kiss hadn’t happened at all. 

“Yes,” Hermione replied. “Did you?”

“Like a baby,” Bellatrix told her. “Until I was woken up by a tongue in my mouth.”

Oh. 

Hermione stiffened and felt her legs wobble, and sent a silent prayer to every deity she could think of that she hadn’t been snogging Bellatrix in her sleep. Because, really, she’d prefer to be awake if she was going to kiss—

 _Where did that come from_?

“Unfortunately,” Bellatrix went on, drawing Rex a dirty look over her shoulder. “It wasn’t the tongue I was expecting.”

 _Thank Merlin_. 

Hermione’s shoulders shook with soft laughter. She didn’t envy the dark witch, because on more than one occasion she’d also been woken up by the little bull terrier’s sloppy good morning kisses. 

_Maybe next time I can be the one to wake her with a kiss and...whoa, steady on_!

Hermione shook her head to quickly get rid of that line of thinking, earning herself a raised brow from Bellatrix as she sat a mug of coffee on the table for her. 

“What’re you daydreaming about, little bird?” 

Hermione tried to conceal her embarrassment with a wide grin, and quickly said, “Nothing.”

The dark witch’s lips twisted like she was trying to hold back a smirk, but she didn’t push the issue. Instead, she asked, “What’re your plans today?” 

“I’m not sure,” Hermione sighed. “I was hoping to...to spend the day with you. If you weren’t busy, that is. But if you’re visiting your mother then...”

Bellatrix scoffed. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t be staying long. She just wants me to supervise the new gardener for an hour or so.”

Ah, the new gardener. Hermione bristled inwardly at the thought. She’d contacted several on Druella’s behalf at the start of the week. 

The first two were busy up until the end of next week, which, according to Mrs Black was completely unacceptable, because how dare they have obligations to other clients before her. One was fully booked for the next month, and one was happy to start right away until Hermione had mentioned her mother-in-laws name, and the gentleman had hung up without so much as a goodbye. 

Eventually, she had some luck when she spoke to a man from Rose Landscape Services, who said he’d be happy to squeeze Druella in the very next day. Only Mrs Black had Floo called her in a rage to drone on and on about how unreliable people were nowadays, and how she’d been unimpressed by Mr Rose’s reluctance to commit to his work. Hermione had been a little miffed, until she’d contacted the man herself, and he’d explained how his young son had come down with a sudden bout of mumblemumps, and that he’d already contacted Mrs Black to reschedule, but she’d declined. 

But just as Hermione had been about ready to throw in the towel and tell Druella to go fuck herself, the woman had sent her a scathing Floo message to inform her that, seeing as she was clearly incapable of managing even the simplest of tasks, she’d arranged a gardener herself, and that Hermione’s services were no longer required. 

Honestly, she’d never met a woman as horrid as Druella bloody Black. She’d even go as far to say that she was worse than Dolores Umbridge, but she wanted to spend the day with Bellatrix, and if she had to suffer a few hours with the woman to do that, then so be it. 

“Would you mind if I...joined you?” Hermione asked hopefully. 

“Don’t be daft. Annie’s coming too. I don’t think I could cope with Druella’s bitchery on my own. Maybe the three of us could do lunch afterwards?”

Hermione smiled, a faint rose blush colouring her cheeks. “I’d like that,” she said. 

_I’d like that very much_.

* * *

“That little shit!” Andromeda cackled. “I can’t believe you were cockblocked by your own son!”

Hermione hissed, “Andy! Keep your bloody voice down, would you!”

“No, wait, wait!” The older witch wheezed, clutching at her side. “You can’t call it a cockblock when it’s two women, can you?”

Hermione groaned. 

She really should’ve known better than to tell Andromeda about the almost kiss with Bellatrix in the kitchen that morning, because the older witch had been insufferable for the past hour. It was a wonder she’d even paused her hysterics long enough to draw a full breath. 

“Vajected?” Andromeda suggested. “That’s a good one.“

Hermione whined, “Andy—“

“Cherry Popper Stopper?”

_Please. Stop._

“I’ve got it!” Andromeda declared, wiggling her fingers in Hermione’s face. “Clitoris prohibitus!”

Hermione spluttered on a mouthful of tea, and flushed what was probably a deep shade of red.

Andromeda just cackled again and covered her face with her palms to try and stifle her unladylike snorts of laughter. 

Hermione shoved at the older witch’s shoulder, and grumbled, “Oh, shut up and drink your tea, Andy!” 

“I’m just teasing, love,” Andromeda sniggered. “I didn’t realise that bump to the head stole your sense of humour as well.”

Hermione just rolled her eyes and turned away to look out over the garden. 

They were sitting on the paved terrace outside Druella Black’s little Gloucestershire cottage.

Well, calling it a cottage was a bit of a stretch. It was the biggest bloody cottage she’d ever seen! Still, it was a charming property, tucked well away from the main roads, with breathtaking countryside views to the front and back. The garden was lovely, even though it was in need of a little TLC, and was bordered by a low stone wall draped in ivy and honeysuckle. Raised flower beds surrounded the patio, filled with fragrant white heather, lavender, and beautiful pink roses. 

It was an attractive home, but what a shame that the beauty of her surroundings was dulled somewhat by the woman currently barking orders on the lawn. 

A group of men laboured under the hot sun, cutting branches from the recently felled tree to be used as firewood. They were a rowdy looking bunch, and the moment Druella had introduced them upon their arrival that afternoon, Hermione had instantly disliked them. 

Especially Rafe Latimer.

Rafe was the man in charge, as it were. She couldn’t put her finger on it, and wasn’t sure if it was his shifty blue eyes or the way he’d blatantly refused to shake her hand when they’d first met, but there was something about him that didn’t quite sit right with her.

Even Rex seemed to have reservations about the man. He was generally a dog who was very happy and excited to meet new people, and always greeted everyone with a wagging tail. But the moment Rafe had tried to pet him, Rex’s pointy ears had flattened against this head and his lip had curled in a warning growl.

The other two men were just as bad; a slimy looking fellow with oily hair named Wally, and another huge man with a gormless expression known only as Burgees. Both didn’t strike her as being particularly bright, and they reminded her of older, meaner, greasier versions of Crabbe and Goyle. 

“They look rough, eh?” 

Andromeda’s smooth voice roused her from her thoughts, and Hermione turned back to the dark witch. She’d composed herself and was eyeing the men through narrowed eyes over the rim of her teacup, and Hermione could tell that she felt a little uneasy about their presence too. 

Hermione hummed in agreement, and asked, “Where did she find them again?”

“Some shitty brochure she got in the post apparently,” Andromeda scoffed. “Teddy probably could’ve drawn something better with a crayon.”

“I can’t believe she harassed me to arrange a gardener for her then ended up hiring this lot instead,” Hermione grumbled. 

“That’s Dru at her best, love. Insufferable old hag.”

“That’s your mother, you realise!” Hermione gasped, but her shoulders shook with soft laughter anyway. 

If there was one thing she’d learned rather quickly over the last few weeks, it was that there was no love lost between Andromeda and the Black matriarch - although the sentiment seemed to be entirely one sided on Andromeda’s part. She wasn’t sure if Druella merely ignored her daughter’s ire and frosty demeanour or if she was completely oblivious to it. 

She had a distinct feeling it was the latter though. 

“Can I ask a question?” Hermione requested quietly.

Andromeda turned to her with a smile. “Of course, love. Ask away.”

“How did you...I mean, was it awkward when you and Druella...reunited?” 

Andromeda’s laugh was bitter. “You mean after the whole disowned and burned off the tapestry thing?”

“Well...yeah.”

“The adjustment wasn’t easy,” Andromeda scowled. “There was a lot of bad blood between us - all of us. Even Bella and Cissy were angry when Dru tried to wheedle her way back in.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”

“Dru left the country after Dad died, you see,” Andromeda explained, and her lips tightened in annoyance. “I’d already been disowned by this point, but I remember seeing the headlines in the _Prophet_. There was a six page spread about how she’d sold up and moved to France with the toyboy she been having an affair with during the time Dad was ill. It was quite the scandal.”

“Bloody hell,” Hermione murmured. 

“No one heard from her for years apparently,” Andromeda went on. “Bella was furious, especially when she lost Vega and Dru didn’t even contact her. I think Cissy still tried to look for her, but she gave up soon after Draco was born and—”

“Vega?”

For a moment, Andromeda looked like she was struggling to breathe. Hermione felt the air around them charge with anxiety, not liking the sudden look of wide-eyed panic on the older witch’s face. 

“Oh, Hermione,” Andromeda finally choked. “I thought...I didn’t realise—“

“Andy?”

There was a quiet pain in Andromeda’s eyes as she softly said, “They lost a daughter - Bella and Rod. She was the reason they...” She looked away and gazed across the lawn to where Bellatrix was standing with a pinched look on her face as Druella rabbited on about something or other. “Bella was nine months pregnant, just a few days shy of her due date. He...he murdered her.”

Hermione felt her blood turn to ice in her veins and a heavy feeling of dread made her stomach plummet.“You mean...Vol—“

“I don’t know the full story, and I’d never dare ask. I just know that he travelled for a while, to recruit more Death Eaters. Bella became pregnant in that time, and he wasn’t best pleased when he returned...” Andromeda swallowed thickly, but pushed on. “I don’t know why, but at some point he tortured Bella in a fit of temper...and Vega died.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in terror as Bellatrix’s words from a few weeks ago starting ringing in her ears.

_Sometimes, just one moment can change everything. My husband and I...suffered a great loss. The Dark - Tom Riddle stole something very precious from us._

“The baby was stillborn,” Andromeda whispered. 

Hermione shook her head, she didn’t want to hear anymore. 

“Oh, Andy,” she whispered mournfully.

Hermione couldn’t imagine. Didn’t want to imagine. She felt sick to her stomach and had the most overwhelming urge to burst into tears, and race across the garden to throw herself at Bellatrix. 

“Please don’t tell Bella I told you,” Andromeda pleaded softly. “I imagine she’ll tell you in her own time. Or maybe...maybe she won’t tell you at all. I don’t know. She doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“I don’t blame her,” Hermione murmured. “To lose a child under any circumstances is horrific, but to be tortured into miscarrying...”

The knowledge of what Voldemort had done to Bellatrix had left her reeling. It was absolutely the worst feeling she’d ever felt. She’d only known Cygnus a few short weeks, but she couldn’t imagine her life without him now. She couldn’t imagine the unbearable pain Bellatrix must’ve felt to lose her child in such a devastating way. 

Andromeda sniffed, and took the brief silence that followed as an opportunity to quickly swipe at the tears welling in her eyes. 

“Anyway, Dru only came back on the scene a few years ago,” Andromeda finally said, and Hermione was glad for the change of subject. “None of us wanted anything to do with her at first, but eventually she burrowed her way back in. Like the parasite she is.”

“Do you despise her that much?”

“I wouldn’t piss on her if she was on fire, put it that way.”

Hermione blew out a steady breath, tried to regain some of her composure. “Fair enough.”

Then Andromeda asked, “I take it Bella hasn’t spoken much about Dru?”

“We haven’t really spoken much about anything to be honest,” Hermione admitted, then bit her lip when the older woman’s eyes widened. “I mean, she told me briefly about what happened after the War. About rehab. But not in any great detail. She was more concerned about me getting to grips with Cyg’s diabetes.”

“Understandable,” Andromeda nodded. “But haven’t you spoken about...about what happened at Cissy’s place. They day she...when she...” At Hermione’s frown, Andromeda fluttered her hand vaguely up and down her arm. “Hermione, she tortured you. I thought, if nothing else, you would’ve wanted to know why.”

“I know why,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. Because shouldn’t Andromeda already know that her sister was a bloody psycho before rehab? “She wasn’t...a nice person back then. But she’s different now.”

“Hermione,” Andromeda said patiently, adopting the same tone she used with Cygnus and Teddy when they were misbehaving. “Ask her about her wand.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What about her wand?”

“Just ask her,” Andromeda repeated. “I thought she would’ve told you about all that by now.” 

“Told me what?” Hermione barely stopped herself from snapping. She was starting to get annoyed. 

“It’s not my place to say.”

Hermione huffed. “But why? Won’t I like what I hear?”

Andromeda just shrugged. “That depends. There’s a lot of things you might not like to hear, but surely you still have questions?”

“Of course I do, but I just...” She trailed off, started fiddling with a loose thread on her cardigan. “I just wish I had a better grasp on my own insecurities.”

“Don’t be scared, Hermione,” Andromeda said softly. “Bella adores you, she genuinely wants what’s best for you. She would never intentionally hurt you.”

Andromeda’s eyes shone with sympathy and love. She was looking out for her as much as she was looking out for Bellatrix, and that made Hermione feel marginally better. 

“I know,” she sighed. 

And she did; because Bellatrix had only ever had her best interests in mind. She was a beautiful woman - inside and out. Hermione loved the colour of her eyes, the slope of her nose, her smile (even if she didn’t look particularly happy at the moment). She loved Bellatrix’s passion, her loyalty, her witty quips, her flirty banter. 

But most of all, Hermione loved the way that Bellatrix _loved_ her. 

She recalled those first uncertain days in hospital, when she thought that loving Bellatrix would be an impossible feat. But after nearly a month living with the dark witch, sharing a home, sharing a life, sharing Cygnus, sharing kisses - even if they were barely kisses at all - she was beginning to think that it would be quite easy to love her back. 

“Things will work out, won’t they, Andy?”

Andromeda smiled, looking hopeful, but before she could respond, Bellatrix stomped across the grass towards them, Rex trotting happily at her heels. 

“We’re leaving!” she growled. “We need to go! Now! I can’t spend another second here!”

“Oh, Merlin, what’s she done to wind you up this time?” Andromeda laughed. 

“Besides the fact that she’s breathing?” Bellatrix hissed. “Those poor sods don’t know what they’ve let themselves in for. She’s asked them to come back tomorrow and clear out the old guesthouse!”

“What? Why?”

“Probably wants to shag them in it,” Bellatrix muttered darkly. “She likes them young.”

“Probably the only thing you and Dru have in common then,” Andromeda teased.

Bellatrix looked disgusted. “I don’t want to shag them! I’ve been done with dick for almost a decade.”

“No, silly cow, I meant—“

“I know what you meant! I was choosing to ignore it—“

Hermione didn’t hear the sisterly squabble that ensued. 

The sudden turn in conversation had left an unpleasant taste in her mouth that she couldn’t ignore. 

It wasn’t news to her that Bellatrix had obviously had relationships with others in the past, that she’d been married. Hell, they wouldn’t have Cygnus otherwise. But she’d never really thought about it before, and the image of Bellatrix being with someone else made her feel...made her feel...

Oh. 

_Oh_.

The sudden recognition of the familiar and all-encompassing emotion passed through her like a streak of white-hot lightening straight to her heart. 

She was jealous. 

She was bloody jealous, and she hated it, and she wanted to cry because the intensity of that possessiveness made her feel like she was returning to her own body after being gone for so long. Her chest physically ached with the sensation, and she could feel the walls that she’d built around her heart to keep Bellatrix out begin to crumble, screaming to let the dark witch back in again. 

It wasn’t a memory. But it was the simple fact that she wanted Bellatrix. And she wanted her more than anything. 

But even more frightening than the inane feelings of jealousy, was knowing that she didn’t have to feel that way. Because Bellatrix was already hers. 

And it felt so normal.

“‘Mione?”

She came back to herself quickly, and looked at Bellatrix, realised she’d said something.

“Bella...sorry, what?”

Bellatrix’s dark brows creased in concern. “I asked if you were ready for lunch?”

“I...yes, sorry.” She smiled weakly. “Mind just wandered off for a moment.”

“Somewhere good, I hope,” Bellatrix said, offering her a small smile in return. “Let’s go, maybe we can beat the lunchtime rush if we hurry. Three Broomsticks alright? Rosie does the best steak pie on a Sunday.”

“Sounds good.”

At the mention of food, Rex whined and pawed at Bellatrix’s shin.

“Yes, and I’m sure she’ll have something for you too,” Bellatrix laughed, scooping him up under her arm. “She always does.”

They hurried inside to the fireplace in the living room, and Hermione watched Bellatrix disappear with Rex in a flash of green. She was conscious of Andromeda’s eyes on her as she reached for a handful of Floo powder, and turned to her, knowing the older witch had something to say.

Andromeda was grinning. “You called her Bella,” she said. 

“Oh,” Hermione whispered, and the sudden realisation sent butterflies scattering through her belly. “I...I suppose I did.”

“You called her Bella,” the older witch repeated giddily, looking immensely pleased.

And the way Andromeda’s copper eyes shone at her made the corners of Hermione’s mouth lift into a smile. And she let that smile widen into a brilliant grin that made Andromeda grin back all the more. Then she was laughing, feeling absolutely delirious, and it was enough to push all thoughts of Druella Black and Bellatrix’s tragic miscarriage to the back of her mind for the time being. 

_I called her Bella_.

And it was the happiest she’d felt in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who might not know, the song Bella’s singing in the kitchen is Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac (which, ironically, is about a witch!) XD
> 
> Go listen if you haven’t heard it!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last update before the new year. Chapter 20 to end 2020!! 
> 
> I haven’t written anything like this before and I don’t particularly like it even though I’ve edited and re-edited a dozen times, but I’m so done with it now. I know a few of you pervs will like it regardless!! ;D 
> 
> What a year this has been! All the best to you, my friends, wishing you all health and happiness for 2021!
> 
> Rube <3

_The rules had been clear from the very beginning; a defined line between work and home._

_And they adhered to those rules - for the most part - conscious of the fact that their careers within the Ministry depended on them both maintaining a sense of decorum._

_But there was always a moment, every once in a while, when they’d forget themselves a little bit - a fleeting moment during lunch when Bellatrix would bring her coffee and their fingers would brush more provocatively than usual, or when Hermione’s eyes lingered hungrily on Bellatrix’s pert backside as she bent to organise her paperwork in the filing cabinet at the end of a long day._

_And there are moments when they forgot themselves completely - when everyone had left for the day and Hermione would find herself pressed against the cool tile in her private bathroom, or when the only way to persuade Bellatrix to abandon her paperwork and come home with her was to straddle her in her office chair and give her something to want to come home to._

_Hermione had a feeling this would be one of those nights._

_Most of the staff in the DMLE offices had already left for the weekend, the lights low to encourage the stragglers to go home. She spotted Harry lingering in the bullpen as she passed through, finishing up a last minute report. Hermione imagined he’d leave soon though, this was little James’ weekend with Molly and Arthur, and she knew he’d want to take advantage of the peace and quiet with Ginny. He peered at her over his glasses as she meandered through the labyrinth of desks, offering her a nod and a grin, before returning to his report. He knew better than to ask why she was on level two this late and not upstairs where she belonged._

_Hermione rapped her knuckles lightly against Bellatrix’s door when she reached her office, lips tugging into a grin as she entered, and spotted the dark witch with her nose in a file. When Bellatrix looked up and whatever scathing comment she had for the person who dared to disturb her died on her tongue, Hermione noted how exhausted she looked. It had been a long week for both of them, but she hoped her lover wasn’t too tired for what she had in mind._

_Bellatrix’s smiled tiredly at her from where she was leaning against the front of her desk, and she snapped the file closed, tossing it on the desk behind her as Hermione sauntered closer. Her dark eyes were hooded and lazy as Hermione stepped into her personal space. Bellatrix didn’t touch her, but she didn’t push her away either, and Hermione took that as an invitation to slide her palms up her thighs and rest them on her waist._

_She was clad all in black leather today - tight trousers, knee-high stiletto boots, a long sleeved cuffed blouse, and that damn corset Hermione didn’t see enough of nowadays - which meant she’d had a full day of training with the Auror recruits instead of meetings and paperwork._

_Hermione licked her lips._

_Coy, Bellatrix asked, “What can I do for you, Miss Granger?”_

_Hermione just smirked, and reached up with one hand to push a few glossy curls away from her witch’s face._

_“What’s this?” she murmured, brushing the pad of her thumb over the tiny cut that marred the sharp edge of her love’s cheekbone._

_Bellatrix pushed her hand away. “It’s nothing, darling. One of the recruits got lucky in training today, that’s all.”_

_Hermione tutted playfully, shaking her head. “You must be slipping, old girl.”_

_Bellatrix sucked her teeth in annoyance, but Hermione knew she wasn’t too upset with the comment judging by the way her painted red lips twisted like she was trying to hide a smile._

_“What can I do for you, Miss Granger?” she asked again._

_“I’ve missed you,” Hermione murmured in reply, and leaned in to whisper her lips across the graze on Bellatrix’s cheek._

_“I’ll get off in an hour or so, I just need to finish—”_

_“You could be getting off now,” Hermione pointed out, and leaned in to kiss her again. But Bellatrix jerked her head away, lips pursed in a playful smirk. Hermione chased her, and brought their mouths together in a heated kiss._

_A kiss that Bellatrix welcomed despite her reluctance. If anything, she tugged Hermione closer, and deepened the kiss almost instantly. Hermione blamed the first stroke of Bellatrix’s tongue on the sounds that clawed their way from her throat - desperate, hoarse, needy._

_“Have you forgotten the office rules?” Bellatrix hummed against her lips, tangling her fingers in the sensible up-do Hermione had flung her hair into that morning._

_The feeling of those black painted nails scratching at her scalp sent a shiver racing down the back of her neck, and her own fingers immediately moved to pluck at the laces on Bellatrix’s corset._

_“Fuck the rules!”_

_The dark witch brushed her hands aside and quickly spun her around, hoisting her on top of the desk with a strength that betrayed her tiny stature. Hermione’s squeal of surprise was quickly swallowed by Bellatrix’s ravenous red lips, and they both moaned._

_Fingers dug into the sensitive flesh behind her knees, then skimmed up her thighs to slide under the hem of her skirt. Hermione pulled at the laces on Bellatrix’s corset again, eager to get to what she desperately wanted underneath. And she’d like to think that she’d become somewhat of an expert on corsets over the years, so it didn’t take long before the swell of her witch’s fabulous tits became more accessible._

_Hermione stared, quite transfixed for a moment, then leaned forwards and pressed a soft kiss against Bellatrix’s chest. A breathy sigh spilled from the dark witch’s lips and her perfect pale skin flushed a beautiful shade of pink. Hermione willed herself to stay patient, and tugged at the last few laces before pulling the corset apart. Bellatrix had amazing breasts; not too much to be over the top, but bigger than a handful, and the sight of them spilling out of the corset made Hermione’s mouth water._

_She reached out to cradle the precious weight in her palms, brushed her thumbs over tight, rosebud nipples. Then she leaned forwards again, sucking a trail of kisses across the perfect swell of flesh to seek out a taut nipple._

_Bellatrix moaned this time, and her flush darkened, but Hermione didn’t give her time to adjust to the sensation of her lips wrapped around her nipple before she pushed the witch’s breasts together and shook her face hard and fast into her cleavage._

_Bellatrix laughed throatily, and pushed at Hermione’s head. “Oi! What have I told you about that!”_

_“Shh. You love it.”_

_“Shut up.”_

_Bellatrix lunged, caught Hermione’s bottom lip between her teeth and gave it a tug. Hermione wrenched away and nipped at Bellatrix’s throat in return. A few love bites wouldn’t hurt. Her witch had a very biteable collarbone._

_Bellatrix pushed her away again, grabbed roughly at her thighs. Hermione was sure she’d have a few fingerprint shaped bruises there tomorrow._

_“Spread ‘em!”_

_Hermione obliged, wrapping her legs around Bellatrix’s waist to draw her closer. And when Bellatrix pushed her skirt up and grazed her knuckle over her damp centre, Hermione’s hips nearly bucked right off the desk._

_“Fuck,” she groaned, and ground down on Bellatrix’s hand with an urgent sort of desperation that made her lover chuckle darkly._

_Bellatrix tutted. “So impatient.”_

_Hermione fisted her hand in Bellatrix’s hair and tugged. Hard. “Shut up!”_

_“Impatient and rude. I think I’ll stop.”_

_“Don’t you dare!”_

_Another chuckle, but Hermione knew her witch couldn’t and wouldn’t deny her anything, and she nearly drew blood from her own lip in an effort not to cry out when Bellatrix finally nudged her knickers aside, and entered her swiftly with two fingers. It wasn’t the best angle, and Hermione would’ve much rather preferred to get rid of her underwear altogether, but that would mean stopping to dispose of them._

_Hermione’s toes curled in her heels as Bellatrix played her with her fingers. Those clever fingers Hermione loved so much, calloused and long and absolutely magical. They dipped in and out; teasing and stroking, but they were nowhere near enough._

_“Bella, please...”_

_“It’s alright, darling,” Bellatrix rasped. “I’ll get you there.”_

_Hermione could hear the laughter in Bellatrix’s voice, and keened in frustration. “Well, get me there faster!”_

_“I’m trying!”_

_“Try harder!” Hermione growled, shimmying closer to the edge of the desk so Bellatrix’s fingers had more space to work._

_She reached for Bellatrix’s breasts again, pinching and pulling as her hips pulsed in time with her lover’s strokes. One of them panted, the other moaned, and with every curl of Bellatrix’s fingers against her G-spot, a jolt of fire shot straight down her spine. Hermione bit down on Bellatrix’s shoulder to keep from crying out. Encouraged, the dark witch redoubled her efforts, and Hermione gasped._

_At some point, she realised she’d closed her eyes, but she couldn’t bring herself to open them again. Not when Bellatrix was fucking her so damn good. Her lover was merciless, and Hermione knew she wasn’t going to last long._

_Bellatrix’s thrusts sped up, and when she flicked her thumb through sleek warmth to circle her aching clit, pushing her higher and higher, everything inside Hermione narrowed to the beautiful, infuriating, wonderful woman between her thighs._

_“Oh - oh, fuck!” Hermione cried. “I - I’m close!”_

_Bellatrix panted against her ear.“You gonna come?”_

_“I’m gonna come—“_

_“Come for me, dove. Come for Bella.”_

_“I’ll c-come for you...I want you - to come for me too...”_

_And then Hermione plunged her hand inside Bellatrix’s trousers without so much as a warning, and, dear Merlin, she was wet. Bellatrix gasped, pausing briefly in her ministrations to regain her equilibrium. And in that momentary pause, Hermione curled two fingers inside her witch without preamble, and she relished the broken groan that followed._

_It was a bit of a tight fit, Bellatrix’s leather trousers restricted her movement, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Not when the most delicious sounds started spilling from her witch’s mouth. Bellatrix ground down on her fingers, rocking her hips vigorously in time with her own thrusts_

_Ragged breaths came in harsh pants as they fucked each other, the obscenely wet sounds of their coupling feeding the growing desperation that coiled inside them. Hermione clutched at Bellatrix with her free hand, felt her witch’s bare breasts swaying against her arm with the motion of their bodies. Her greedy mouth sought contact with the flickering artery at Bellatrix’s throat, desperate to mark her._

_Bellatrix’s velvet walls fluttered and pulled at her fingers, and Hermione knew she was close to the brink too. She pulled back a little, kissed Bellatrix’s jaw, caught a brief glimpse of the rapture on her face. And Hermione didn’t know if it was the way Bellatrix’s face was contorted in blissful agony, or the rising heat between them, or the way Bellatrix’s fingers were pounding into her cunt - but whatever it was, it sent Hermione plummeting off the edge into the abyss._

_Bellatrix plummeted with her._

Hermione woke with a start; panting and aching and hot all over. 

_Not again_.

It was no surprise that ever since the almost kiss in the kitchen over a week ago that she’d started thinking about Bellatrix in bed. But while she was pleased to have a reprieve from the nightmares, Hermione had not been prepared for a dream like that. 

It wasn’t that Bellatrix was unwelcome in her dreams, she could visit anytime, but it was becoming harder and harder to look the dark witch in the eye every morning without thinking about the direction her mind had started wandering at night. 

She knew it was only natural she’d think of Bellatrix, they’d been spending so much time together after all, but the vividness of her dreams were beginning to make her wonder where the line was between fantasy and reality. And while she couldn’t deny the growing attraction she felt towards the dark witch, the thought (and she’d thought about it a lot) of doing the things she did with Bellatrix in her dreams terrified her. 

It terrified her because she’d always been openly and consciously attracted to men - Ron, Viktor Krum, Leonardo DiCaprio - and it had never once occurred to her that she could ever be attracted to women. It was hard not to look at her situation now with incredulity, and she felt a profound sense of pride knowing what she’d achieved with Bellatrix over the last eight years. And if she hadn’t experienced it first hand in the weeks since she’d come home from the hospital, she never would’ve believed that they’d somehow managed to create a loving, stable, and fully integrated family unit, and maintained a level of closeness and intimacy that was ultimately a real joy to be a part of. 

Her life just now was a bubble she was all too happy to exist in, but despite her attraction to Bellatrix, the thought of being physically intimate with her filled her with anxiety, and it was a conflict in her mind that was probably stressing her out more than it should. 

It didn’t help that tonight’s dream was possibly the naughtiest one she’d had so far, and it was hard for her to ignore the way her whole body was currently thrumming with smouldering arousal. And as much as she wanted to just roll over and attempt sleep once more, she knew the quickening pulse between her legs wouldn’t allow her to until her begging body got some satisfaction.

A satisfaction she’d denied herself every night thus far. 

_It’s just a physical reaction_ , she tried to tell herself. _Deal with it and go to sleep_.

Tingling slightly with nervous anticipation, she trailed her hand down her stomach, and stroked herself through the thin material of her underwear.

The feeling nearly took her breath away. 

It wasn’t like she hadn’t touched herself before, she was a grown woman, and she knew that sometimes you had to take care of things yourself. She liked knowing her own body. But this feeling...this felt different.

She slid her hand under the waistband of her knickers, trailed two fingers through her slick folds, and gathered wetness, before moving her fingers back to her glossy clit. She massaged herself in earnest. Slowly at first, moving her fingers in languid circles just how she liked it, hips rolling slightly with the rhythm. 

It felt good.

So good. 

But it wasn’t enough. 

And quite suddenly, the image of Bellatrix touching herself like this sprang to the forefront of her mind. 

She imagined her long, slender fingers, spreading herself open, pink and glistening. She imagined her slipping those fingers inside. Did she like two? Three? Did she like to be teased? Did she throw her head back and moan? Or did she shudder and sigh? 

Hermione felt her legs tremble as she stroked herself, moving her other hand to squeeze her breast and toy with her nipple through her satin camisole. 

Then she imagined what it would be like if Bellatrix was between her legs, and she sucked in a quick sip of air. 

Bellatrix was...fierce, for lack of a better word. And it was hard to think of her as anything else in bed too. Bodies sliding together, heat radiating between them, hungry lips against her own. 

_Fuck, Bella’s lips_.

She wanted to taste them. Feel her tongue against her own tongue. Feel her tongue against every part of her body. 

She gasped as she imagined the dark witch’s long fingers trailing through her sodden pussy before sliding inside. She imagined wild, sable curls. She imagined teeth nipping at her throat, and soft, wicked red lips kissing her deeply.

And, oh, Merlin, now she felt like her whole body was aflame, tightly coiled, and ready to combust. 

She was so close, teetering on the brink...

But she wasn’t quite...

She just needed...

What did she need?

 _Oh, Bella_...

That was it.

That’s what she needed. 

And Hermione came with a shout that was much too loud for the stillness of the night, her entire body going rigid as she arched and rocked with the force of her quaking orgasm. 

“Fuck!” she groaned, surprised, as her own arousal gushed over her fingers. 

It took some time for her to finally come back to herself, but even then her whole body still spasmed with aftershocks. She raised the hand that rested on her breast to her forehead, and wiped away the beads of sweat that had accumulated there. And then she smiled, sated and breathless, before rolling onto her side and curling into a ball under the duvet. 

Oh, this was all Bellatrix’s fault. 

Damn her and her long fluttery eyelashes. Damn her and her pouty red lips. Damn her and her clever rebuttals and flirty jokes. Damn her and that fucking corset. 

Damn, damn, damn her! 

If Hermione hadn’t already been well on her way to falling for Bellatrix, then she had a feeling all the deliciously sinful wet dreams she’d been having had well and truly sealed the deal.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, my lovelies! 
> 
> Sorry for the long wait! Here’s Chapter 21 to kick off 2021! As usual I’m not a fan of my own work, but I know some of you will appreciate it regardless.
> 
> This chapter is possibly the longest yet! 
> 
> I own nothing. All mistakes are my own. Enjoy! 
> 
> Rube <3

**The next morning**

The next morning Hermione was woken by the sound of heated voices coming from downstairs. 

She could hear Bellatrix arguing with Cygnus in the kitchen, both of their voices loud and indignant enough to pull her out of her room. She met Cygnus on the landing on her way downstairs, his little face red and full of temper. 

“Have you got your memory back yet?” he asked sulkily. 

“Not quite,” Hermione said, trying to shake her head free of a night of dreams all involving Bellatrix doing the most sinful things to her. 

Cygnus sighed theatrically and stomped angrily into his bedroom without further comment, looking so much like Bellatrix that Hermione wanted to laugh. 

Bellatrix was standing with her back to her when she finally ventured into the kitchen. Even from the doorway Hermione could see the stiffness in her shoulders. 

“Um...good morning,” she said, sitting down at the table with caution.

“Is it?” Bellatrix bit, darting her an icy glare over her shoulder before turning away again. 

Hermione was stung by her waspish tone. She’d come to read Bellatrix’s moods and understand her temperament over the last few weeks, and as a result she’d learned much about the dark witch. For the most part, she was amiable and easy going, but on the odd occasion when her temper flared, more often than not it was because she’d butted heads with their son over something or other.

After a few tense moments of silence, Bellatrix pushed away from the counter, trailed her hand gently over Hermione’s shoulder as she walked past her on her way to the fridge. 

“Cygnus is difficult this morning,” she murmured. It wasn’t an apology exactly, but Hermione could see the remorse in her eyes. 

“I noticed,” Hermione replied, keeping her tone light. “Is it his diabetes or...”

“He’s just a stroppy little shit,”Bellatrix snorted, crossing to the kettle. “Tea?”

“Please.”

Hermione leaned back in her chair as she watched Bellatrix summon mugs and toss teabags into them. She was wearing an oversized Quidditch t-shirt that hung off one shoulder and stopped nearly at her knees. She wondered briefly if it was an old shirt of her husband’s then hurried to push the thought away again. 

Casually, Bellatrix asked, “Sleep well?”

“Very well,” Hermione replied, trying hard not to smile at the way Bellatrix’s usually buoyant curls were stuck flat on one side of her head from where she’d been sleeping.

Bellatrix leaned back against the counter while she waited on the kettle boiling, and pinned her with a look Hermione couldn’t quite decipher. “Are you sure?”

Hermione frowned a little. If she wasn’t mistaken she could hear the smile in Bellatrix’s voice, and she suddenly felt the creep of a blush on her cheeks.

There was an amused little upturn at the corner of Bellatrix’s mouth as she asked, “No...nightmares?”

“What? I - no, no nightmares,” Hermione answered quickly, cringing slightly at the way her voice seemed to inadvertently rise in pitch. 

“Oh. It’s just that I thought I heard you...moaning, so I assumed...” Bellatrix’s gaze slipped away, and she turned back towards the kettle with a shrug. “Maybe I was mistaken.”

_She heard me! Fucking hell, she heard me!_

Hermione felt the heat rising in her face and was glad that Cygnus was upstairs, and wasn’t there to witness what she was fervently hoping wasn’t going to turn into a confession about her nocturnal activities. 

“I’m absolutely fine, Bella,” she murmured. “I actually had really nice dreams last night...”

_Shut up. Shut up. Shut up._

“Oh, I bet you did,” Bellatrix muttered, quiet, but not quiet enough that she didn’t hear the comment. Hermione ducked her head in embarrassment, suddenly eager to make her excuses and disappear back upstairs. But before she could make her escape, Bellatrix brought their tea to the table, and asked, “I was wondering if you’d like to go out for dinner tonight?”

Hermione blinked, feeling shy all of a sudden. She felt shy because it very much sounded like Bellatrix was asking her out on a date. She felt shy because the woman who was supposed to be her _fiancée_ was asking her out on a date! 

A disbelieving little gasp escaped her, and she choked, “Dinner?”

“Yes, dinner,” Bellatrix smirked, teasingly affectionate. “The main meal of the day. Usually taken around midday or in the evening depending on one’s preference—“

“Smart arse!”

Bellatrix barked a laugh, the sound leaving her throat in a husky rasp that Hermione couldn’t help but find deeply attractive. 

“Annie offered to take Cygnus for the weekend,” Bellatrix told her. “She’s picking him up straight after school, so I thought it would be nice if we spent some time together. Just the two of us.“

Hermione couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face at that. “I’d love to,” she said quickly. As if she’d ever decline an invitation like that!

Bellatrix smiled back. “Nothing fancy, just the pub,” she went on. “Molly’s sound good?”

“M-Molly’s?” Hermione blinked stupidly for a moment. 

“No, not _that_ Molly,” Bellatrix snorted, rolling her eyes. “As good as Ma Weasley’s cooking is, I thought we could go to the little Irish place we like. It’s just around the corner. You don’t mind do you?”

Hermione couldn’t help the giddy feeling that bloomed in her chest. “Sounds good.”

* * *

“Is this ok?” Bellatrix asked, clearly sensing Hermione’s slight unease as they looked over menus. “We can go somewhere else if you like?”

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s just... ” Hermione gave her a nervous smile, looked around at the rowdy crowd. “Busy tonight.”

Molly’s was exactly what Hermione would’ve expected of an Irish pub: it was loud, dimly lit, and smelled like beer and cigarettes. There was nothing at all familiar about the pub, but it’s polished, dark wood decor and shamrock green walls gave it a rugged sort of charm that she found strangely appealing.

“All the students come here for predrinks before hitting the clubs,” Bellatrix told her. “They’ll clear out soon.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Hermione mumbled, and glanced out over the thickening crowd.

Bellatrix nodded at the menu she still held in her hands, and asked, “See anything you fancy?”

Hermione jerked back around to look at Bellatrix. “Oh, um. The lasagna sounds nice. But I think I’ll go for the fish and chips.”

Bellatrix grinned at that, looking pleased as she rose from the table. “Thought you’d say that.”

Then she was gone, weaving through the Friday night crowd to get to the bar. 

It was getting busier she noted. A group of young men were crowded around a screen that appeared to be showing a football game, and another group of older gentlemen who looked like they’d just gotten off work were sitting around the bar in their overalls juggling pints and baskets of chips while they waited for a free table. In the booth next to her there were four women in skimpy dresses laughing and giggling over fishbowls full of cocktails, and a curly haired man was standing next to a slot machine, talking animatedly with a woman who looked like she could’ve been his long-suffering girlfriend. 

She turned back to watch Bellatrix. The dark witch was leaning on the bar, her black curls lying over one shoulder as she spoke with the bartender. But she wasn’t the only one watching her, and Hermione had to steel herself against the all encompassing wave of jealously that suddenly washed over her as she watched a blonde twenty-something man leer at Bellatrix from the other end of the bar. 

And when Bellatrix pushed back through the throng with their drinks, the man had the audacity to follow her.

“Bellatrix,” Hermione said calmly, just as the dark witch reached their table. But Bellatrix was already turning towards the man, dark eyes full of warning. 

“Will you stop following me?”

“Why?”

“Because I asked nicely,” Bellatrix sneered. “And I only do that once.”

Smirking, the man raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Alright, alright. I was only gonna ask if I could buy ya a drink, that’s all.”

Bellatrix gestured to her pint. “Got a drink right here.”

“Come on—“

“Are you deaf?” Hermione spat. “She’s not interested.”

“Chill out, love! Jus’ a misunderstanding is all,” the man shrugged, but not before dragging his eyes up and down Bellatrix’s body with absolutely no subtlety whatsoever. “Shame though. Your friend ought to be shared around.”

“She’s not my friend,” Hermione shot back. “She’s my...”

Well, she didn’t really know what Bellatrix was to her right now. Technically, she was still her fiancée, but she didn’t know when she’d feel comfortable enough to refer to her as such. Before she could ponder anymore on that notion however, Bellatrix scoffed loudly. 

“Listen here, you ugly little tosser,” Bellatrix said, flicking her fingers at him like he were an irksome fly. “I have shoes in my wardrobe older than you. Now, off you fuck, so I can drink with my lady in peace.”

The man’s face turned an interesting shade of puce as he spluttered indignantly. Hermione thrummed possessively as she watched him skulk away, trying to brush off the moment but failing miserably. 

“Easy tiger,” Bellatrix chuckled as she slid into her seat. 

“I don’t - I don’t share,” Hermione mumbled before she could stop herself, taking an angry sip of wine. 

Bellatrix’s lips twisted into a satisfied little smile. “Possessive little thing, aren’t you.”

“I - I’m sorry,” Hermione said apologetically. “I didn’t mean—“

“Yes you did,” Bellatrix said with a smirk. “Glad to see some things haven’t changed.”

“I hate guys like that.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll punch him if he comes back,” Bellatrix assured her, only half-joking. 

“My hero,” Hermione grinned, and quite suddenly, the very vivid image of Bellatrix punching a man right in the face just sort of waltzed through her mind. 

She choked and sprayed wine over the table, gasping as she greedily tried to replay the image in her head. It twisted and distorted until she was there, sitting on the floor with her back pressed against the wall as Bellatrix sent some lanky bloke flying with a well-placed fist to the jaw. The brief spike of fear that accompanied the image told her that the Bellatrix in her memory had been defending her.

“Honesty, woman,” Bellatrix chided playfully, tossing a napkin at her. 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione spluttered, mopping up the spill she’d caused on the table. “I just had a...a memory. I think.”

Bellatrix cocked a brow, sipped her pint idly. “Oh?”

“You punched someone,” Hermione continued. 

“I’ve punched a lot of people,” Bellatrix smirked. “I decked Rita Skeeter in sixth year.”

“I’m so happy to hear that,” Hermione murmured. “But have you ever punched a man?”

“Several,” Bellatrix nodded, then she fluttered her hand vaguely across her forehead. “Is that what you—“

“I was on the floor. I think you were defending me.”

Realisation quickly dawned on Bellatrix’s face. “Ah. Him,” she grimaced. “Warren Pritchard.”

“Warren Pritchard,” Hermione repeated warily. The name meant absolutely nothing to her, yet her memory raced forwards again, and she saw Bellatrix, standing over Pritchard, fists clenched, eyes wide and wild. 

“He was in rehab for a while,” Bellatrix explained. “Then he tried to get fresh with you. So I lamped him, and he got sent back to Azkaban.”

A frown furrowed Hermione’s forehead. “So...was I in rehab too?”

“For a little while, yes. You were one of our...” The corners of Bellatrix’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Well, let’s just say I called you Warden for a while.”

“Harry brought me some old _Prophet_ clippings when I was in hospital,” Hermione told her. “I didn’t realise I was so involved with the programme though. Where was it again? Some place called Phoenix House?”

“Sounds disgustingly cliché, doesn’t it?” Bellatrix snorted into her beer. “Shacklebolt brought you in to help, what with you being a Muggle-born and all.”

Curious, Hermione asked, “What did me being Muggle-born have to do with anything?”

“Oh, love.” A wide grin touched the corners of Bellatrix’s mouth and played in the laugh lines beside her eyes. “Rehab was basically Muggle Studies for Death Eaters.”

Hermione blinked. The revelation surprised her very much, and quite suddenly, so many things made sense to her. Her mouth split into a wide grin. “Is that why you’ve come to appreciate all things Muggle in recent years?”

“Not all things,” Bellatrix grinned, her dark eyes twinkling in the low light. “Stevie Nicks, yes. Telly, yes. Coronary bypass surgery, yes. But some things I still don’t fucking understand at all, and I doubt I ever will.”

Hermione leaned her elbows on the table, intrigued. “Like what?”

“Like flat pack furniture. I despise it, yet you still order things we don’t need from IKEA, and insist we build them the ‘Muggle’ way.”

Warmth invaded Hermione’s cheeks, and she giggled into her palms.

“And pet clothes. Why do Muggles insist on making their animals dress up?”

“I’d have to agree with you there,” Hermione nodded. Nudity was a human construct, she didn’t get it either. 

“And those stupid toxic scented trees Muggles put in their cars,” Bellatrix said with a grimace. “They stink. I’ve ripped better smelling farts than those rancid little things!” 

Hermione broke down in hysterics.

* * *

When they’d finally calmed down, Hermione asked about Bellatrix’s job with the DMLE. They’d spoken about it briefly before, but Hermione was interested to know more. Bellatrix indulged her and answered most of her questions, but kept her answers vague enough that she wouldn’t get into trouble for revealing more than she should. Even though Hermione was fully aware that Bellatrix trained the Auror recruits, that didn’t mean that the dark witch could disclose absolutely everything about the job. 

The conversation had just moved onto the people that Bellatrix worked with when their dinner arrived. The waitress discreetly set their meals down and topped up their drinks before beating a hasty retreat. 

“So Augustus Rookwood helps you with the Auror programme, then?” Hermione asked as they tucked into their meal. 

Bellatrix nodded as she took a bite of her steak. “Alec too. After rehab, we were all assigned jobs. Mostly within the Ministry.” 

Hermione eyed Bellatrix over the rim of her wine glass with a smirk. “So they could keep an eye on you?”

Bellatrix smirked back. “Of course. But also because most of us had certain...skills they wanted to utilise,” she explained. 

“Oh?”

“Alec and I mainly run boot camp, preparing the recruits for wand to wand combat and whatnot,” she went on idly. “And Rooks is our intelligence officer. He was a spy during the first War as you know, so his job is to give the recruits basic instruction in espionage methods.”

“Sounds like the trainees are in good hands,” Hermione said. 

“I suppose they are,” Bellatrix hummed, then she groaned dramatically. “But, good Godric, are they annoying!”

The conversation moved onto other things after that, but Hermione was barely listening. She couldn’t stop thinking about rehab, and wondered what Kingsley had done to persuade her to work in close proximity to people who’d tormented and tortured her and her friends during the War. But most of all, she wondered what her relationship with Bellatrix had been like after the War. The thought of which had both terrified and intrigued her, but now the slight buzz from the wine she’d consumed made her feel brave, and suddenly she was desperate to know all the things she’d been too scared to ask all these weeks. 

“What did you think about me when we first met?” Hermione wanted to know, cutting Bellatrix off mid spiel. “In rehab, I mean.”

Bellatrix’s expression hardened. “Hermione,” she said.

“Bella,” Hermione echoed. 

They stared at each other for a long moment. 

Hermione finally sighed, and leaned her arms on the table. “Please,” she said quietly. “I want you to be honest with me. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I just...sometimes I still can’t fathom how someone like you could want...someone like me.”

“Someone like you?” Bellatrix repeated.

Hermione took a deep breath. “A Muggle-born. A Mud—“

“Stop,” Bellatrix said sharply. Her eyes flashed with something. Not quite anger, but something akin to sadness. 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione murmured. She was still learning where the boundaries lay between them, and the last thing she’d wanted to do was upset Bellatrix. “I just...wanted to know.”

Bellatrix made a small sound, something between a huff and a sigh, and started picking absently at her thumbnail. 

“When we first met,” she said, then looked away. There was hesitance in her posture, like she wasn’t sure if Hermione was ready to hear the things she was about to say. It only added fuel to Hermione’s burning attraction to her. “Honestly,” Bellatrix continued, in Hermione’s silence. “When we first met...I couldn’t fucking stand you. I thought you were so...common. And nosy, and a bit of a know-it-all.”

“O-Oh. Right.” Hermione wasn’t in the least bit surprised by the answer, but it stung nonetheless. 

“Please don’t take that to heart,” Bellatrix said quickly, clearly seeing the hurt expression on her face. 

“I - I’m not,” Hermione lied. She was pleased that Bellatrix had given her an honest answer though. 

“I was a very angry person back then,” Bellatrix went on, and reached across the table to lay her hand on top of Hermione’s. “I had a lot of demons, but once I stopped feeding them...I’ve humbled myself so much since rehab. But it took me a long time to realise that nothing gets me angrier than being stuck inside my own head.”

Hermione smiled a little at that, and turned her hand beneath Bellatrix’s. “Well, I’m glad you’re not stuck there now.”

“Funny how things change, isn’t it?”

Tentatively, Hermione asked, “What do you think about me now?” 

“Isn’t it obvious what I think now?” Bellatrix asked. 

“Humour me.”

Bellatrix rolled her eyes with a put upon sigh, but Hermione could see right through her theatrics.

“Now,” she said softly. “Now, I still think you’re a nosy little know-it-all, but that’s one of the things I love most about you.” Then she laced their fingers together, smiling fondly as she did so. “And your long legs.” Hermione’s cheek’s burned. “And your beautiful smile. The way you swing your briefcase when you walk. Your laugh.”

Hermione just listened, entranced by the tender look Bellatrix was giving her. And, oh Merlin, those eyes. She could drown in them. 

“But most of all,” Bellatrix murmured. “I love the way you chose to love me and Cygnus.”

Hermione’s heart suddenly felt too big for her chest. The look on Bellatrix’s face as she stared at her was one that Hermione had never seen before, a look that was solely for her. In all the weeks she’d been living with Bellatrix, she’d never looked at her like that. It was a look of longing, and it filled her with a deep sense of love that made her breathless. She didn’t know how long they sat like that, just staring at each other, holding hands across the table. It could’ve been seconds, it could’ve been minutes, it could’ve lasted all night for all she cared, and she would’ve been quite happy to sit like this for eternity.

But the little bubble she found herself in was abruptly popped when a shadow fell over their table, and they both pulled away to look up into the gnarled face of the old man who stared down at them. 

“You owe me a rematch, girly,” he growled at Bellatrix. 

“Bloody hell, here we go,” Bellatrix muttered under her breath. Then louder, she said, “Maybe later, Bruce.”

“Ye said tha’ last time!” the old man snarled. “Get yer arse o’er to that board, woman! I’ll be waitin’.”

“What the bloody hell was that about?” Hermione demanded as the old man hobbled away again. 

“I owe him a game of darts,” Bellatrix groaned. 

Hermione blinked, more than a little bewildered. “You play darts?”

Bellatrix shrugged. “I was cajoled into playing a round with Potter a few years ago,” she explained. “Turns out I’m quite good, and now whenever we come here I need to indulge Bruce else he harasses me all night.”

“You could just tell him no,” Hermione suggested. 

“You don’t know Bruce,” Bellatrix grumbled, knocking back the dregs of her pint. “Don’t worry, love. This won’t take long.”

* * *

“Bull to win, Bella,” someone said. 

Bellatrix merely grinned and whipped her arm out at the dartboard, and despite the lack of time spent aiming, and the fact that she was five pints down, the dart firmly hit the target. 

True to her word, the game hadn’t lasted long, and Hermione wondered if Bellatrix had perhaps used magic to sneakily hurry things along, or if she was just that good. Either way, the game had attracted quite the crowd, and a cacophony of cheers and whistles rang out. Hermione cheered with them, and Bruce swore loudly as Bellatrix swept into a bow before retrieving her darts. 

“Are you quite happy now, old man?” Bellatrix asked him, smirking triumphantly. 

Bruce growled, shaking his bony fist. “Nuh! Yer a bloody cheat, tha’s what ye are!”

Bellatrix cackled. “How can you cheat at darts?”

“Damn ye, woman!” he growled, then snatched his whiskey tumbler off the bar and ambled away, muttering obscenities all the while. 

The small crowd dispersed quickly as Hermione approached Bellatrix. “That was amazing!” she beamed, leaning up to brush a quick congratulatory kiss against the dark witch’s cheek without much thought. 

Bellatrix smiled back, and held the darts out to her. “Quick game before we head home, love?”

Hermione tensed, but found herself reaching for the darts anyway, swallowing when her fingers brushed warmly against Bellatrix’s. “I don’t even know the rules.”

“Just one game. For me?”

“Oh, alright,” Hermione conceded, and hesitantly walked over to stand in front of the board. She took her time aiming, not wanting to look foolish in front of Bellatrix, but the dart went wide, and embedded into the wall. She winced, cursing under her breath, and lined up her next shot. It landed on the board this time, but was still nowhere near her intended target. Her third shot missed completely and clattered noisily to the floor. 

“I’m no good at this,” she grumbled. 

“Sure you are,” Bellatrix said, giving her a lopsided grin as she went to collect the wayward darts. “Here, let me help.”

Bellatrix pressed a dart into Hermione’s hand and stepped up behind her, pushing her chest into her back. With a soft touch, she covered Hermione’s hand and guided it into position.

“The trick is to stay relaxed,” she whispered against Hermione’s ear. “Line it up.”

Hermione shivered at the feeling of Bellatrix’s breasts pressed against her back and the warm breath that fluttered over her cheek. If she was hopeless before then she didn’t know how Bellatrix expected her to be any better when their proximity was making her belly flutter with butterflies. They stood like that for a long moment, practicing the movement Hermione would make with her arm. 

“Now, let it fly,” Bellatrix murmured.

Hermione threw the dart. It soared in a graceful arc and landed on the board close to the bullseye. She could feel Bellatrix smile against her ear. Then, as Bellatrix placed another dart in her hand, their fingers brushed again, and Hermione turned her head slightly to look at her. 

Only Bellatrix wasn’t looking her in the eye.

Bellatrix’s eyes were darker than Hermione ever thought they could be, and seemed to be focused on her mouth. On instinct, Hermione wet her lips, tongue darting out before she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth to worry at the plump flesh with her teeth.

The dark witch’s eyes lingered on her mouth for an agonisingly long moment before her left hand came up to rest on her chin, thumb flicking up to pull gently at her trapped lip so Hermione would release it.

Her breath hitched as her lip came free, mouth parting in a shuddering sigh as Bellatrix’s gaze travelled back to her face. 

_Oh, god. She’s going to kiss me._

Hermione swallowed hard, felt her throat bobbing as she pressed the softest of kisses against Bellatrix’s thumb. Bellatrix’s eyelashes fluttered and her mouth fell open. Hermione’s self control was resting on a knife edge, she needed to stop this before they both did something they’d regret. 

_But will I regret it?_

Hermione didn’t think so.

“Say yes,” Bellatrix murmured, her tone pleading. 

“Yes,” Hermione whispered. 

She couldn’t think straight. She’d never felt an urge like this before, to completely lose herself with someone. All the kisses she’d had before - with Viktor, with Ron - had been wet and sloppy, and truthfully, a little unpleasant. But she wanted to know what it felt like to kiss Bellatrix. She _needed_ to know. But she had a feeling it would be nothing short of marvellous. 

But just as Bellatrix leaned in, someone in the pub called, “Oi, lady, you finished with the board?” And with an effort akin to Atlas holding the world on his shoulders, Hermione jerked away with sudden, sharp embarrassment. 

She looked at Bellatrix, her eyes were dark and hooded, and she could see the pulse pounding in her throat. “Get your coat, we’re leaving.”

Hermione nodded. Then, bill paid, drinks abandoned, Bellatrix led her out of the pub, and into the night.

* * *

The short walk home was a bit of a blur, but all Hermione could clearly remember was the way Bellatrix’s hand had brushed against hers, itching to entwine their fingers. She tried to make sense of what had happened at the pub, but before she could think too much about it, they were standing back in their kitchen, and Bellatrix was pouring them each a drink.

“Nightcap,” Bellatrix muttered, handing her a glass of wine. 

Hermione didn’t really want another drink, but she reached for the glass anyway, only her hands were shaking, and the stem of the glass slipped out of her fingers. She cursed loudly as the glass shattered and wine splattered across the kitchen tile. 

Bellatrix dissolved into a fit of helpless laughter beside her. Hermione glared at her, she felt embarrassed and anxious, and her head was beginning to pound from all the wine. 

“What is it with you and spilling wine tonight?” Bellatrix teased playfully.

“I’m glad you find this so funny,” Hermione snapped. 

Bellatrix just smiled at her, and reached out to tangle her fingers in her hair. That’s when it happened. There was a flash of...something. But it wasn’t a memory. More...a feeling. And it terrified her and excited her at the same time. 

“Say yes again,” Bellatrix whispered, giving her a look so tender it physically made Hermione’s heart hurt

“Bella,” she said, feeling so overwhelmed that she leaned back. 

Bellatrix’s eyes dimmed, and wordlessly she dropped her hand to her side, but Hermione grabbed her elbow. She looked like she was going to say something, but Hermione leaned in and quickly chased away Bellatrix’s words with a chaste kiss. Hermione immediately felt the older witch stiffen, and was about to pull away again and apologise, when Bellatrix all by melted against her, making a soft noise as she leaned in further. 

They kissed, slow and gentle, their lips brushing against each other in barely there touches. And then, quite accidentally, Hermione’s tongue swept slowly across Bellatrix’s bottom lip, and the dark witch’s mouth opened under hers. The first firm stroke of Bellatrix’s tongue nearly made Hermione’s knees buckle, and she wound her arms around the older woman’s shoulders. 

Hermione felt Bellatrix’s hand sink into her hair again, the other on her hip, then she was being turned, and she let her feet move in the direction she was being steered until she felt the small of her back bump into the edge of the counter. They stood like that for a long moment, kissing slowly and deeply. Then Hermione’s hands grew bolder, and she skimmed her palms down Bellatrix’s sides, brushing against her ribs, before slipping around her lower back. 

A firm squeeze of Bellatrix’s backside had her pushing her hips against Hermione’s thigh. They both groaned, and the sound startled her enough to bring her back to her senses. Oh, gods. What was she thinking, kissing Bellatrix Black? It wasn’t right, it wasn’t...and yet it was. Flustered and out of breath, she pulled back, and stared at Bellatrix. 

The older woman frowned. “Hermione?”

Confusion and panic gripped her as she struggled with the warring desires to both pull Bellatrix closer and push her away. She opened her mouth to apologise, to explain, but stupidly blurted, “I needed to know...” 

Bellatrix jerked away, looking for all the world like Hermione had just slapped her across the face, and the lips that had been kissing her so sweetly mere moments ago pinched into an angry white line. Hermione immediately regretted her thoughtless words, hadn’t meant for it to sound like some sort of warped research experiment when in fact she’d wanted to kiss Bellatrix for longer than she cared to admit. 

“Right.” Bellatrix gave her a tight smile, and stepped away from her. “Well, then. Now you know.”

“Bella.” She’d hurt her. Oh, god, she’d hurt her. “I didn’t mean—“

“Goodnight.”

Bellatrix left the kitchen without a backwards glance, and Hermione’s heart shattered like the glass that still littered the floor. Tears slipped from her eyes, and as she sagged back against the counter again, she couldn’t help but feel terrified by the fact that kissing Bellatrix had felt way more familiar to her than anything else she’d experienced since coming home from the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t kill me...


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 22 for you all! 
> 
> I’ve been waiting for this chapter for ages XD
> 
> I own nothing. All mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

Five days.

Five days and Bellatrix hadn’t so much as said a word to her.

Five days and the silent treatment had broken her in ways she’d never thought possible. 

And while Hermione had made many attempts to apologise in a desperate bid to repair the rift she’d inadvertently created between them, Bellatrix remained distant and cold. Often only appearing at breakfast to make sure Cygnus was ready for school, before hiding herself away again. 

It gnawed at her at night, keeping her awake, and whenever she finally managed to nod off, her night terrors would return with a vengeance. Sometimes, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine Bellatrix’s curls on the pillow beside her, tried to imagine the curve of her shoulder and the dimple in her cheek. But it was hard to settle again when her new reality had become worse than her nightmares. 

She’d considered writing Bellatrix a letter instead. And every day she’d thought about what she should say to her. She’d be in the middle of making dinner, stirring soup or chopping vegetables, but her mind would still be trying to find the rights words. She’d be reading a book, absently stroking Rex’s pointy ears, but instead of focusing on the words, she’d think about parchment, and her hands pouring ink all over it. 

In the end, she’d attempted five different letters, and she’d tossed them all into the fire.

The whole thing had left her feeling horribly frustrated and guilty.

But above all else, it made her feel sad. 

Sad because everyone else could remember the last eight years, but she could only remember the last 8 weeks. Sad because she was drawn to Bellatrix, generally attracted to her in ways she couldn’t fathom, yet she couldn’t quite give herself over to the feelings that had started to stir for the dark witch. Sad because she didn’t know if she could be who everyone wanted her to be. Sad because her son asked her every morning if she had her memories back, and every morning she had to shake her head and tell him no. 

She couldn’t stop thinking about Friday night; couldn’t shake the hurt look on Bellatrix’s face, and if Hermione could’ve taken her words back, then she would’ve. The remorse she felt was suffocating, the guilt like Fiendfyre in her guts, and the fire burnt her so badly that she didn’t know if there was anything left. 

There had been times recently when she felt like her brain just sort of fried up. She’d put it down to the head injury she’d sustained during the Diagon attack. It wasn’t an excuse, she knew that, she owned her own behaviour after all. But sometimes when she tried her best to help, tried to do and say the right thing, something inside her would stutter to a screeching halt. And when her emotions turned - cold, fearful, anxious - she couldn’t stop herself from backing away, fleeing, striking out. And in those moments she was fearful of the person she’d become, because she felt so very far away from the girl she remembered being. Because now she felt like a child, damaged and afraid, silently waiting and dreading the next thing she said or did that would hurt the people that loved her most. 

“Is the coffee here that bad?” a voice said, startling her out of her reverie. 

Hermione’s head snapped up. “I...sorry, what?”

“The coffee,” the man grinned, nodding at the untouched mug in front of her. He had a hint of an accent she noticed, but before she could say anything, he said, “You look upset.”

Hermione quickly swiped at her face with her sleeve, realising she’d been caught crying in the middle of the St. Mungo’s visitors tearoom by a complete stranger. Her face flushed, mostly from embarrassment, but also from a little bit of something else she couldn’t quite decipher. 

Hermione awkwardly cleared her throat. “I...yes, it’s pretty bad.”

“Bad enough to make you cry?” he asked casually, sliding into the empty seat opposite her. 

“It’s not...that’s not why I was crying,” she mumbled. 

She caught a quick frown on his face, perhaps of concern. “Oh. Right.”

He was good looking Hermione noticed. In fact, she’d even go as far as to say she was mildly attracted - quite attracted even; he was tall, all curly blonde hair, and blue eyes.

“You get some bad news then?” he asked, giving her a sympathetic look. “I mean...you know, we’re in a hospital so...”

“No. Nothing like that,” Hermione reassured him. “I’m waiting on my son. He’s having some one on one time with his Healer.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh, didn’t realise you had a kid.”

“Yes. Cygnus. He’s eight,” Hermione told him, briefly wondering why she’d offer such personal information to a complete stranger. 

The man nodded, his blond curls bouncing as he did so. “I’ve got an eight year old too. A little girl.” Then his mouth tightened into a sad little line. “I don’t get to see her all that much. She lives back home with her mum, you see. Messy break up.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It is what it is.”

Hermione stared at him. The moment he’d sat down she’d searched his face, looking for any hint of recognition in his blue eyes. But she found none. Truthfully, it was nice not to be recognised for a change. 

Hermione smiled a little. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Sydney born and bred,” he told her proudly, puffing out his chest a little.

Ah, Australian. She’d thought maybe New Zealand but...whatever.

“Moved here just last week,” he went on. “My cousin took a bludger to the noggin’ during a pick-up game.”

Hermione stared at him. “Right.”

“That’s why I’m here,” he said quickly, clearly sensing her confusion. “Just in case you thought I was some weirdo who hung around hospitals to chat up pretty ladies.”

Hermione blushed, and quickly changed the subject. “My parents lived in Melbourne for a while. They ran a dental practice there.”

He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Teeth Healers? Those Muggle nutters that put their fingers in your gob?”

Hermione laughed a little.

“So I guess you’re Muggle-born then?” he asked, smiling gently. 

“Mm,” Hermione hummed noncommittally. She didn’t really want to get into blood-status at the moment, so she quickly changed the subject. “So what brings you to England?”

“Oh, I got offered a transfer from the Australian Bureau of Magic to work in the offices over here.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up. “So you work at the Ministry?”

“Yeah. Well I don’t start for another few weeks, but I’ll be working in...um...” The tips of his ears reddened. “Well, I can’t remember the exact name of the department. You Pommy’s need to give everything long fancy names, but in Oz we called it Critter Control.”

“I assume you’re referring to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures then?” Hermione asked. 

“That’s the one,” he grinned, snapping his fingers. 

“That’s my department too!” Hermione blurted. 

“Sounds like we have a lot in common then,” he said. He seemed nervous, tentative, and his eyes shone hopefully. “Maybe I’ll see you at work?”

Shyly, Hermione replied, “Yeah. Maybe.”

“I’m Elliott, by the way,” he said, reaching across the table. 

“Hermione,” she said gently, reaching out to shake his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Elliott.”

* * *

“Do I need to go back to school?” Cygnus asked once they’d left St. Mungo’s.

“That was the deal, Cyg,” Hermione reminded him. “Mum said you could take the morning off as long as you went back to school in the afternoon after your appointment.”

Cygnus’ appointment had gone well. Hermione had accompanied him for the first hour and watched with interest as Healer Booth had conducted various tests, closely examining his eyes, his circulation, and the nerves in his feet to check for a variety of different diabetic complications. Thankfully, no red flags had popped up, and Healer Booth had been pleased. 

Overall, she’d been happy with his blood glucose levels, but had expressed some concern over the amount of low blood sugars he still seemed to be having throughout the day, and had asked him to keep a diary so they could try and establish a pattern before they amended his insulin dosages. Cygnus had agreed, taking it all in his stride as usual, and Hermione was immensely proud of him. 

Cygnus should’ve been proud too, after all, he did most of the work himself, and was much more independent than most children his age, yet he looked so miserably unhappy as they strolled through the streets of Islington on the short walk towards school. 

“What did you and Healer Booth do when I went away?” Hermione asked, attempting to change the subject. 

“We played games,” he mumbled sullenly. 

“That sounds fun,” she said lightly.

“I guess.”

“What kinds of games did you play?”

“I had to feed Barry the Bear,” he sighed. 

Barry was the giant stuffed teddy bear in Healer Booth’s office. Bellatrix had told Hermione about him once during a conversation over dinner and had explained that Barry was ‘diabetic’, and had to receive ‘insulin’ and ‘food’. Healer Booth often used him to teach her young patients about insulin to carbohydrate ratios. Carbohydrate intake was an important part of diabetes management, and Barry the Bear helped to do just that. It had apparently been Cygnus’ favourite game to play when he was younger, needless to say, he didn’t look too excited about it today. 

Hermione sighed, pulled Cygnus to the side. “Alright, spill,” she demanded, trying hard to use her best authoritative mum voice. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he muttered.

Hermione scoffed and folded her arms. “Oh, please. You look miserable, Cyg. Aren’t you happy? Healer Booth said she’s very pleased with you, she said—“

“I don’t care about the bloody appointment, Mum!” Cygnus snapped, then immediately blanched under Hermione’s heated gaze. 

“Watch your tone, Cygnus Black,” Hermione firmly reminded him. “You’re seven years old and I don’t appreciate being spoken to like that.”

Cygnus hung his head sheepishly, and muttered, “Sorry.”

Hermione sighed. She knew he’d been having problems adjusting to life after her head injury, but instinct told her that something else was troubling him.

“Talk to me, Cygnus,” she pleaded. “Please, love. It’s obvious something’s been bothering you lately.”

But Cygnus just shook his head. He was stubborn, like Bellatrix. He usually came to her with his problems when he was ready, but she had a feeling this couldn’t wait. 

“Are you worried about something?” Hermione tried again. Cygnus was silent. “Has someone upset you?” Again, Cygnus didn’t say a word. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Finally, Cygnus looked at her, and whispered, “She’s sad every day.”

Hermione paused. She didn’t need to ask who _she_ was. The images sprang to mind quickly: Bellatrix, her lips set in a grim line as she made Cygnus’ breakfast in the mornings, then the crestfallen look in her eyes that she tried to keep hidden when she ignored the mug of tea Hermione silently pushed towards her. 

“Is she mad at me?”

“What? No!” Hermione exclaimed, horrified that her child would come to such a conclusion. “Of course not! Why would you think that?”

Cygnus bit his lip. “I thought maybe...have I made her angry?”

Hermione wrapped her arms around him. “Mum’s not angry with you, darling. Don’t ever think that.”

“But then why—“

“Mum’s upset with me,” she interjected quickly. “We had a small misunderstanding on Friday, that’s all. I promise you, Cygnus, you’ve done nothing wrong. Do you understand?”

She could feel him nodding against her stomach as he clung to her, and, oh Merlin, did she feel terrible. She’d been too preoccupied trying to make amends with Bellatrix that she hadn’t even spared a thought to how the burning tension between them over the last few days might’ve affected Cygnus. He was still so young, it wasn’t fair for him to see his parents fight. 

She was quiet for a few moments, tried to think of the best way to deal with the situation. And when she finally spoke, she was grateful that her voice wasn’t shaking. 

“Why don’t we get some lunch and go for a walk?” she asked softly, holding him at arms length. “What do you think?”

“But what about school?” Cygnus asked cautiously. “Won’t Mum be angry if I don’t go?”

Hermione gave him an even look, watched the way his brow creased into a worried little frown, then said, “Well, I won’t tell her if you don’t.”

Cygnus blinked, and then they both dissolved into a fit of laughter, the undercurrent of heavy sadness lifting from around them like a fog dissipating under the sun.

* * *

The Regent’s Canal offered an oasis of calm that Hermione felt they both needed. It had once been London’s best kept secret, but now it was always bustling with walkers, boaters, commuters, and everyone in-between looking to escape the busy city streets. Better still, it was a stones throw away from home, and one of Hermione’s favourite places to relax. 

They sat in the shade of an old tree overlooking the canal, a bag a McDonald’s food on the bench between them. She wasn’t usually a fan of greasy fast food, but Cygnus had insisted, and she couldn’t deny him. 

“Look, Mum!” Cygnus cried, tossing one of his fries into the canal where a lone duck with the brightest bill she’d ever seen rushed through the water to claim its prize. 

“Do you know what kind of duck he is?” Hermione asked, remembering that she’d read somewhere that it was good to ask children questions to enhance their cognitive development. 

“Oh! Erm, erm, I know, I know!” He scrunched up his little face in concentration, and Hermione loved that he looked like Bellatrix when he did that. “It’s a, erm, a maward?”

“A mallard, that’s right,” Hermione laughed.

“I remembered!” he exclaimed, beaming proudly. “You told me last time.”

Hermione’s face fell, and Cygnus’ dark brows drew together sadly. “You - you don’t remember, do you?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, darling. I’m sorry.”

Neither of them said anything for a long time after that. The only sounds around them came from the chirp of birds, the occasional loud quack from the duck still waiting expectantly for more chips in the water, and the far off hum of London traffic. She watched Cygnus, his brow creased in deep thought as he nibbled around the edge of a chicken nugget and swung his legs backwards and forwards under the bench. 

“Why don’t you ask Mum for the pensieve?”

Hermione snapped around to look at him in surprise. 

“Pardon?” she asked, not sure that she had quite heard him correctly. 

“The pensieve,” he repeated, gazing at her hesitantly, his blue gaze shining with trepidation and hope. ”Mum could show you all the things you’ve forgot.”

Hermione was flabbergasted. 

It seemed so simple, yet she didn’t know how she couldn’t have possibly thought of it before. What shocked her even more was the fact that Cygnus knew what a pensieve was. Yet, she should’ve known better than to underestimate him by now, but she asked him anyway. 

“How do you know what a pensieve is?”

Cygnus looked away, his expression pained, and started kicking at the dirt with his shoes. 

“I found a picture of a man,” he said in a small voice. “He had the same eyes as me. Mum said he was my...my...”

Hermione knew instantly what he was going to say. Her heart broke for him. “Oh, Cygnus,” she breathed. 

“Mum was upset, but she showed me all her memories.” 

Hermione swallowed past the lump in her throat. “What kind of things did Mum show you?” she asked, careful to keep her tone neutral. 

Cygnus drew his legs up on the bench and rested his chin on his knees. “She showed me...Daddy smiling. And playing Quidditch. And how much he made her laugh.”

Despite the excitement bubbling in her chest at the prospect of maybe filling in some blanks, a trickle of jealousy pulsed through her. But she tried hard to dismiss it, reminding herself that she’d blushed in front of a handsome stranger barely an hour ago. 

“And he was tall,” Cygnus went on when she didn’t say anything. “Mum said she thinks I’ll be tall just like him. Then I’ll be bigger than everybody, and you and Mum won’t be able to tell me what to do anymore. Like brush my teeth and eat all my peas.”

“Well, I’m glad Mum was able to show you some of her memories of him,” she said gently. 

Cygnus turned to look at her then, eyes wide and hopeful. “You should ask Mum to show you her memories too. Maybe she’ll feel less sad if you remember some more.”

Hermione reached out and threaded her fingers affectionately through his unruly curls. 

“I think that’s a brilliant idea, Cyg.”

But first, she’d have to remind Bellatrix that they were mothers. That they were supposed to be a team. And that, despite the tension between them, Cygnus always came first. 

Hermione's lips curved into a wry grin; she’d have to remind Bellatrix of something. 

How ironic.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another big chapter, and one that I’m actually very pleased with! Probably one of my favourites!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who’s still reading and enjoying this fic, lots more to come XD
> 
> I own nothing. All mistakes are my own. Enjoy! 
> 
> Rube <3

**Later**

Raised voices met Hermione’s ears the moment she pushed open the front door.

_Bloody hell, what next?_

“Mum sounds angry,” Cygnus whispered fretfully, clinging to her side as he glanced up at the landing.

“It’s alright, darling,” Hermione assured him, and quickly ushered him into the Gryffindor room. “Why don’t you put the telly on for a bit while I talk to Mum, hm?”

He bobbed his dark head in reply, and she quickly shut the door again.

_This stops now._

She angrily stomped up the stairs, gearing herself up for the squabble that was sure to follow when she confronted the dark witch. She could’ve just left Bellatrix to it, let her unleash her fiery temper on whichever poor sod had dared to cross her, and then attempted to have an honest conversation with her later when she’d hopefully calmed down. But all this animosity had been going on for too long now, and she willed herself to try and stay calm, reminded herself that she was doing it for Cygnus more than she was doing it for herself. 

The voices were coming from Bellatrix’s office. The door was shut, but Hermione didn’t let that stop her, and shoved it open. Bellatrix stood in the middle of the room with her back to her, practically spitting flames as she squared off against Harry, of all people. 

“Calm down, would you?” Harry ground out, raking his fingers through his messy black hair in irritation. 

“Don’t tell me to calm down when you’re the one who pissed me off in the first place!” Bellatrix practically shrieked, every word over pronounced, slicing rather than tumbling through the dry air. “If you can’t handle my inner bitch then you shouldn’t have fucking summoned her!”

There was a vein pulsing in Bellatrix’s throat, a sure sign she was absolutely livid. Harry was angry too, judging by his wide stance and clenched white-knuckled fists. They’d yet to notice her, but Hermione pulled out her wand and mentally catalogued the spells she could use to safely incapacitate them if things got ugly. 

She wished she knew what she’d missed though. 

“Listen, Bellatrix,” Harry tried to reason. “I know things are difficult right now, but we really need you back.”

Bellatrix stiffened, her back ramrod straight, and Harry took a hesitant step backwards. Hermione still couldn’t see her face, but she must’ve looked absolutely mutinous. 

“You said I could take the time off,” Bellatrix ground out. “You said—“

Something clicked in Hermione’s head then. Harry wanted Bellatrix to go back to work. But judging by the angry red sparks sizzling from the tip of her wand, Hermione could tell that Bellatrix was having none of it. 

Harry sighed, and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “It’s been two months, Bella,” he said, his tone much softer. “You can’t be on leave forever.”

Something clenched unpleasantly in her chest at that. She hadn’t made nearly as much progress regaining her memories as she would’ve liked, and even though it pained her to admit it, she knew Harry was right. 

“She’ll be back next week, Harry,” she cut in, stepping further into the room. 

Harry shifted his gaze to her, his startled expression quickly turning to a faintly amused smirk when he finally realised she was there, then he glanced at Bellatrix again. 

“Great, see you Monday then,” he said quickly, giving the dark witch an even look. Then he disappeared through the grate like his arse was on fire, leaving her to deal with the incensed witch on her own. 

_Bastard!_

A tense silence followed. 

Hermione didn’t say anything. She didn’t dare. Not when she could practically feel the dark witch’s rage sweeping off her in ferocious waves. And when at last Bellatrix did turn to look at her, Hermione wished she hadn’t opened her mouth at all. 

Bellatrix’s face was a livid chalky white, and with something set and rigid about it which was shockingly unnatural. And her eyes, oh Merlin, her eyes. They were like a knife straight to her heart. Where there had once been patience and understanding, was now all the heated rage Hermione hadn’t let her take out on Harry. Her unmoving gaze was accompanied by deep, heaving breaths, like she was fighting something back and loosing.

Hermione had never seen Bellatrix look so angry. 

“She’ll be back next week?” Bellatrix growled lowly.

Hermione squared her shoulders. Despite the animosity boiling in Bellatrix’s gaze, Hermione refused to be intimidated, and said, “You can’t babysit me forever.”

For the briefest moment, Bellatrix looked severely agonised by her words, and the fire in her eyes dimmed to a dull flicker, but then the flames surged to life once more, and she spat, “And why the fuck not?”

Hermione wanted to slap her. 

“Because you can’t put your career on hold for me!” she shot back. 

“What gives you the right to tell me what to do?” Bellatrix hissed. “What gives you the right to tell me anything? You don’t even know who the fuck I am!”

Hermione’s shoulders slumped at that, and the fight quickly left her. She knew it was hard for Bellatrix. She knew how much she’d done for her, still did for her, even though Hermione knew Bellatrix had been so pissed for the last few days because of that stupid kiss.

When Hermione didn’t answer, Bellatrix rubbed her face aggressively. 

“So I just go back to work?” she asked. “We just...accept this?”

Hermione stepped close to her, reached out a hand. But Bellatrix jerked away and paced over to the window. And that hurt. Bellatrix’s rejection hurt, and she couldn’t stand the heavy weight that settled in her heart. 

_Now I know how she feels._

“I just think it would be best if we try to carry on as normal,” Hermione said softly.

At her words, some of the tension in Bellatrix’s spine loosened, and she dropped her head into her palms. 

“I don’t know what else there is to do,” Hermione admitted when Bellatrix didn’t say anything else. “At least if you go back to work it might take your mind off things. And...” She hesitated, wondered if she should open this can of worms now when Bellatrix was still so riled up. But then she reminded herself that this was the whole reason she’d sought her out in the first place, and decided to press on. “And I know you’re upset with me right now, but please don’t withdraw from Cygnus. He thinks you’re angry with him.”

Bellatrix still didn’t say anything, and just when Hermione thought the dark witch had gone back to giving her the silent treatment, she finally murmured, “I’m sorry.”

Hermione was sure she meant for more than just yelling.

“I’m sorry too,” she said, moving to stand next to her at the window. Then, in an attempt to try and lighten the mood and diffuse some of the burning tension between them, she nudged Bellatrix in the ribs, and said, “That must be a first. You never say sorry after an argument. I think you’ve apologised to me twice in the past eight ye— what?”

Hermione’s words died in her throat when Bellatrix whirled to look at her in alarm. 

“Who told you that?”

“Who told me what?” Hermione frowned.

“That I never apologise.”

Hermione cocked her head, confused. 

_Why wouldn’t I know that?_

“Hermione...” Bellatrix whispered, and about ten different emotions seemed to cross her face at once.

“What’re you...” Hermione trailed off, realisation finally settling in, and she fisted her hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp of surprise as an image of Bellatrix - black coat, hair pinned up, ruby red lips - suddenly raced though her mind like a runaway steam engine. “I...remember. We - we had a fight, didn’t we?” 

“Yes,” Bellatrix nodded giddily, eyes wide with hopeful optimism.

“We had a fight, and we didn’t...speak for a while. Cygnus was just a baby.” Hermione thumped her fist against her temple, desperately trying to reach for the memory. “You came to me and apologised, and then we...”

“Kissed,” Bellatrix supplied helpfully. “You kissed me—“

“In front of Hogwarts!” Then something else dawned on her, and on impulse, her hand shot out to clutch Bellatrix’s. “Yes! My graduation! The photo in the bedroom! I remember!”

Bellatrix’s fingers tightened around hers. 

She was beaming. 

It was the happiest Hermione had ever seen her.

And she’d be lying if she said the urge to kiss Bellatrix again wasn’t rising.

* * *

_She tried to move again, but something heavy and warm was draped across her legs. With a whimper, she managed to rise up on her hands and roll herself onto her back. Grit and shattered glass dug into her shoulder blades, but she didn’t care. All she could do was clutch at her burning side and pant harshly through her nose in a desperate attempt to catch her breath. Then she pushed up onto her elbow to get a better look at what had her legs pinned - and immediately wished she hadn’t._

_There was another body lying next to her._

_A mangled body with wet, dark hair._

_Oh, no. Please, no._

_Hermione croaked, “Bella?”_

_There was no response._

_Bellatrix’s dead eyes reflected the charcoal clouds above, their dark beauty lost in her love’s empty gaze. There was a large piece of wood protruding from her side, her corset was shiny and slick with blood._

_Hermione reached out to press her palms against her mangled flesh. You were supposed to stop bleeding by putting pressure on wounds. But, oh, there was so much blood - dark crimson, with a metallic scent that overpowered her senses and made her want to retch._

_“Bella?” she tried again, even though she knew Bellatrix was gone._

“Wake up, love. Wake up.” 

A warm, soothing voice washed over Hermione, pulling her out of the torturous scene in her head, and back to sweet reality. With a shout, she jerked awake, and found herself looking into Bellatrix’s wide, concerned eyes. 

“You’re having a nightmare, love,” Bellatrix murmured, smoothing her sweat soaked hair off of her forehead. “Are you listening, Hermione? It’s just a nightmare.”

“Oh, Bella,” she breathed, choking on a sob at the sound of Bellatrix’s sleep-roughened voice saying her name. “I thought - I thought...”

Hermione couldn’t form words, the dream was still so fresh in her mind. All she could seem to focus on was the image of Bellatrix’s lifeless black eyes. 

“I know, darling,” Bellatrix murmured, edging onto the bed to sit beside her. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”

Hermione clung to her, buried her face against the dark witch’s stomach. 

“Is this normal?” she finally murmured, knowing Bellatrix suffered from night terrors too. “All these nightmares?”

“Not really.” Bellatrix admitted, softly threading her fingers through Hermione’s tangled brown locks. “Before your injury they were few and far between. But on the odd occasion when they do reoccur, it’s when you’re more worried or stressed than usual.”

Well, that certainly made sense. She’d felt nothing but worry and stress recently. The last few days especially, ever since their...disagreement. But she quickly pushed that thought away, because after she’d confronted Bellatrix in her office earlier, Hermione felt as though the whole thing hadn’t even happened. 

Tentatively, Bellatrix asked, “Would you like some tea? I was on my way to get some when I heard you—“

Hermione shook her head. “No, thanks.”

“Would you...” Bellatrix hesitated a little, and the hand in her hair stilled. “Do you want to talk about it? Your nightmare. Was it...”

Hermione knew instantly what Bellatrix was going to ask, and she untangled herself from Bellatrix’s embrace so they could both sit back against the headboard. 

“It wasn’t your husband,” she whispered, although in some warped way she wished it had been. Because she would’ve happily relived Rodolphus Lestrange’s death every night if it meant she didn’t have to dream about...that. “I can’t tell for sure, but I think I keep dreaming about the attack. In Diagon.”

Bellatrix made a soft sound. “You probably are. I imagine that makes your dreams more terrifying, hm?”

“It does,” Hermione admitted. “But more than anything I feel...I just...”

“Yes?”

Hermione looked at Bellatrix, sitting there in her blue silk nightdress. It was quite revealing she noticed. One of the dark spaghetti straps hung off one shoulder, and the delicate lacy neckline dipped low enough to leave little to the imagination, and maybe she should’ve accepted Bellatrix’s offer of tea because her mouth was suddenly so dry, and she couldn’t help but drag her gaze down the creamy expanse of Bellatrix’s bare thighs.

Hermione licked her lips, reached out to brush her fingers down Bellatrix’s pale, jutting collarbone. 

Bellatrix sucked in a sharp breath, and murmured, “Hermione.”

“I always wake up terrified that something’s happened to you and Cygnus,” Hermione finally said. 

Then, just like that night in the kitchen, Bellatrix’s hand came up to cradle her cheek, and Hermione leaned into her touch. 

“I’m right here, dove,” Bellatrix whispered, stroking Hermione’s jaw with a feather like touch. 

_You’ve always been here._

And it was with that thought that Hermione finally realised something. Finally realised that Bellatrix made her feel so much more than just butterflies in her stomach. 

Bellatrix made her feel safe. 

And Hermione knew now that every time she’d woken in a panic in the middle of the night and reached for the empty space beside her that it was Bellatrix that she’d been looking for. 

So entirely without thinking, Hermione leaned in, and kissed her.

Bellatrix immediately pulled away. “Hermione,” she shook her head, sounding sad.

But Hermione reached for her before she could retreat too far, brushed her thumbs over those sharp cheekbones she’d come to admire. “Please, I need you to know. I didn’t kiss you on Friday because I was curious or...or whatever it was you convinced yourself of. I kissed you because - because I wanted to.”

“Hermione,” Bellatrix said again.

Silence hung in the air between them, but it wasn’t the same silence of the last few days. It was comfortable, it was close and warm, and smelled like cedar and vanilla, and Hermione wanted her. She wanted Bellatrix. And that feeling terrified her, but after their argument, she was even more terrified to lose it again. 

“Would you mind terribly if I kissed you again?” Hermione asked.

There was a brief flash of surprise on Bellatrix’s face, then her eyes grew heavy. “If you’re sure,” she said, licking her lips. 

Hermione had never been more sure about anything in her life. All she wanted to do was kiss her, and the most peculiar sense of déjà vu surged through her veins, like she’d had this feeling before. 

“I’m sure,” she said, leaning in. 

Bellatrix leaned in too. “Help yourself, love.”

Their lips danced dangerously close, and the sultry note in the dark witch’s voice was all the encouragement Hermione needed to tangle her fingers in Bellatrix’s shining, black hair and pull their mouths together. 

Hermione groaned and shivered, allowing Bellatrix to tilt her head and angle their lips more surely together. She responded eagerly this time, like they’d been doing this for years. Like their lips had longed to meet again after their first disastrous attempt at this. 

But it wasn’t like their first kiss. Their first kiss had been long and slow and deep. 

But this kiss was urgent and hot and so damn perfect, and Hermione loved the way Bellatrix’s fist tightened in her hair, like she was resisting the urge to deepen the kiss too quickly for fear that she’d scare her off again. But there was something about Bellatrix’s hesitancy that made warmth bloom in her core - the desire to take the lead, to show Bellatrix how much she wanted this. So she pushed forwards eagerly, slid her tongue into Bellatrix’s mouth, and the faintest memory of their first ever night together came rushing back - ragged breaths between them, hot, messy, urgent - and suddenly, Hermione wanted to explore. 

She danced her fingers over the lacy edge of Bellatrix’s nightdress, traced the older witch’s delicate collarbones, marvelled at the heat radiating between them. Bellatrix responded to her touch instantly, and tugged at Hermione’s hair with her fingers and Hermione’s lower lip with her teeth, seemingly quite happy to let Hermione’s hand wander where it pleased. 

Spurred on by Bellatrix’s reaction, Hermione slid her hand lower until she was cupping Bellatrix’s breast through the satin material of her nightdress. The feel of Bellatrix cradled in her palm nearly took her breath away, and she delighted in Bellatrix’s pleased hums and broken gasps. Then she began to circle her thumb before she was even aware of the impulse, coaxing the dark witch’s nipple into a tight peak, and Bellatrix’s answering moan was a reaction Hermione wanted to elicit again and again and again. 

She could spend the rest of her life doing this. Why had she wasted so much time not doing this?

But before she could give the other breast the same attention, Bellatrix made a soft, whimpering sound, and pulled away again. Hermione was almost terrified to open her eyes in case she’d gone too far. But then she felt the press of Bellatrix’s forehead against hers, and her warm, ragged breaths ghosting over her face, and there was a fragility to the moment that made Hermione exhale softly. 

“Unless you want this bed to start rocking I’d think very carefully about where you put that hand,” Bellatrix muttered hoarsely, and snatched Hermione’s fingers to pull her hand away. 

Hermione made a soft noise of protest, but she knew Bellatrix was right. 

“I’m not ready for that,” she whispered, and slowly opened her eyes. “Not - not right now, anyway.”

Bellatrix seemed to soften at her apologetic tone, and lifted Hermione’s hand to her mouth, pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of her wrist, her palm, her fingertips.

“The world we knew is gone, Hermione,” she said softly, carefully. “I don’t need you to give me exactly what we had. I just want you to be happy.”

Bellatrix’s words made Hermione want to cry, and she swallowed past the lump in her throat. She didn’t know where it had come from. Maybe it was because Bellatrix was looking at her with such sadness that it made her physically ache. 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione mumbled, at a loss for what else to say. 

“This isn’t your fault, Hermione,” Bellatrix went on, her words barely slipping past kiss swollen lips. “Hopefully your memories will return, and we can move on. If they don’t, then...I don’t want you to feel compelled into doing something you don’t want to.”

“Bella...”

“I’ll entirely understand whatever you decide. All I ask is that...” Bellatrix swallowed thickly, and her dark eyes turned pleading. “Please don’t give up on Cygnus. You’re his mother. He doesn’t know anything else.”

“I’m not giving up on either of you,” Hermione told her fiercely. “We’ll make it work. I promise. I - even if we need to make new memories.”

Hermione wasn’t exactly sure where the words came from, but they felt right, and she meant them. She wanted to remember. And even though with each passing day it was becoming less and less likely she’d regain everything she’d lost, the tentative relationship they’d been building over the last few months finally felt like it was going somewhere, and even though she was happy to make new memories, she wanted to try and find the ones she’d lost too. 

She leaned in again. Bellatrix leaned in too, perhaps thinking she wanted to kiss again, but Hermione gripped her biceps, and gave her a serious look. She knew what she wanted, but she wasn’t at all certain if Bellatrix would agree. 

_Well, she did it for Cygnus._

“I’m not the same person I was a few weeks ago,” Hermione told her honestly. “And I’m still learning everyday what it’s like to be someone else. But I want to...try. I want to remember, and I want you to help me.”

Bellatrix smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. There was a sadness there, something helpless and heartbreaking. 

“I want you to show me your memories,” Hermione pressed on. “Cygnus told me you showed him...”

Bellatrix immediately stiffened in her grasp, and something quite haunting flitted across her face, but it was gone again but a moment later, and the dark witch merely nodded. 

“If that’s what you want...” she said slowly, “...then we can discuss it in the morning.”

Hermione squeezed Bellatrix’s shoulders, and leaned in once more to press a gentle kiss against her lips. Her fingers weaved through Bellatrix’s soft curls again, somehow looking more unruly than before, and she was immediately mesmerised by how easy it suddenly felt to be able to touch Bellatrix like this. 

And then she began to wonder how easy it would be to do other things, and quietly asked, “Do you think - could you stay? Please?”

Bellatrix cocked a brow, and gently warned, “Hermione...”

“Just to sleep,” Hermione quickly amended. “I just - I haven’t been sleeping well recently, and I think maybe having you here...”

Bellatrix was silent for a few moments, until she nodded, and Hermione shakily exhaled the breath she didn’t even realise she’d been holding. They quickly rearranged themselves under the duvet, and Bellatrix wrapped her arms around her, carefully holding her like she was something precious. Hermione sighed contentedly against Bellatrix’s neck, feeling like she was made to fit there. 

“Please don’t leave me, Trix,” she muttered, already very nearly asleep against Bellatrix’s breast. 

Bellatrix didn’t answer, but reached between them to toy with her engagement ring for a few moments, and just as Hermione felt herself begin to nod off, close and warm and safe in Bellatrix’s arms, she heard the dark witch whisper, “I’ll never leave you.”


End file.
